Sheepeater Cliff i will storm the gods

the afternoon sun is warm upon his back, the breeze dancing across the jagged cliff face. ridgeback sticks to the bottom of the cliff, a glimpse at the steep rockface telling him that he would not be as half as nimble as the bighorn he watched climb it half an hour earlier. the terrain isn't exactly even; cracked boulders and littering of rocks of varying sizes and shapes give way to grass greening. they are in abundance here; the sheep ...though from what he can tell they wisely stick to the top of the cliff.

a noise pierces the air from the top of the cliff looming in mockery of him and instinctively, he gives pause. muscles tense and joints lock in preparation; dark red scruff bristling with uncertainty as he peers upwards. a golden eagle tussles with a bighorn, the commission of their battle carrying. from his poor watching position below, ridgeback only sees flashes; a wicked sharp curl of horn, flying feathers, the impressive spread of wings against the sun like a goddess rising her arms.

and then comes the conclusion: the bighorn is lifted off the cliff and dropped. it falls about ten feet right of ridgeback's current position and a predatory glimpse is given skyward as he rushes towards the sheep's corpse as the eagle dives. ridgeback's lips curl back from his teeth as he moves to stand over the kill, a stream of snarls rumble and erupt from his chest; teeth snapping at the bird as it tries to cow him.

it is mine...

and for whatever reason — ridgeback does not really care — the eagle rescinds and takes a sloppy flight back up to the cliff top where it disappears. ridgeback moves to examine the bighorn for a moment before he begins to dig into the fresh kill.