Altar of Twilight victory does not make us conquerors

Though they were far, she felt she, too, could smell them; but then, as scree descended nearby, Hydra recognized the scent for what it was. Her own sharp, predatory gaze found the source of the sound in an injured billy-goat, limping its way upward. Though the creature was as expert as she herself was with the climb, and likely did not even need its eyes, the mountain betrayed it—as its cloven-hoof pressed against the earth, the world beneath it gave. 

The fall was horrific, and the only thing worse than witnessing it might be hearing it—at least, for the faint of heart. But Hydra was already on her feet and had abandoned her task of watching the world dutifully; she could do her due diligence after lunch, she decided. Hydra was neither starved nor hungry, though a hunt was soon to come and she would not refuse a meal that had been all but given to her. 

Its fall was both long and hard, but somehow the critter had survived it. It would not live for much longer, she knew—she drew close, slowly at first, until she saw it had been stunned to stillness... and then Hydra moved in, not waiting for its breathing to cease as her tongue combed the furs from its flesh before her fangs tore into the thing. Both ears cupped backward as she feasted, sure that she might not have been the only thing to have noted the demise of the goat.