Qeya River Clubhouse

The cracking of ram heads echoed off the mountainside. Eye to eye they stood, head lifted, after each thunderous match. The misty air from their breath curled in rings around the heavy spiral of their horns. They withdrew, each finding their way several paces back before they stood in an uneasy truce- and ran for each other again.

Ksura watched, entertained for some time, before he set his gaze on the ewes grazing below in the lower ranges. They were smaller, their horns barely spikes. Alongside them, this year’s young jousted and sparred, leaping about coltishly on the jagged rocks. 

These weren’t domestic sheep; they could not be slain by the dozen with their own fear. These were animals that knew that danger lurked in the wilderness, and that their true advantage came from their ability to race up sheer rock. 

But with the killer lurking above them, they would have to descend- to an area where wolves would have the advantage. 

The rams collided again; in the echo, Ksura sent up a short cry- hoping someone nearby might be ready for when he made his move.