Little Goat Mountain I never trust a narcissist

Laughter echoed off the mountainsides as the successful hunter boasted over his kill. A golden eagle had put the rams into a chase, and Ksura had seen them bounding effortlessly along the sheer cliffs in his direction. The eagle had its sights set on a small one, this year's lam he suspected, but Ksura eyed the ram who had his eyes set on the ledge. Ksura, hidden by a swatch of goldenrods, waited until the ram leapt for the edge- before he sprang out and sent it scuttling backwards for just a moment before it fell back. 

Down and down, over and over again it tumbled, and Ksura picked his way down until he found the ram. Overhead, the eagle screamed victorious, and the wolf laughed below. 

Dragging the carcass was the only real cost of energy and his ego had bloated as much as his slain prey. The long, thick horns curled behind each ear, arcing back to the ram's jaw. Bighorn sheep came with their own handles built-in. 

He was out of breath by the time he dragged the body back to Mira's densite, but was in top spirits nonetheless. He was about to call her out of the den when he spotted a wide, gummy grin, and two true-blue eyes. It was the one with the freckles, a little boy he thought. "Well there, Little Ostrega," He said. "What d'you make of it all?" He said, nearly breathless as he saw down alongside the ram's body.