For the last time, the old one came down from the mountain.
He retraced his steps, following trails worn by countless years of use; familiar footfalls now lost to the passage of time.
Like all of his kind, his life had been shaped by the instinctive drive for survival. And he carried his scars with pride.
Some of his kin had fallen, but others had thrived. And now he stood, at the edge of the precipice – the last of his generation.
If he had cared to stop and think awhile, he might have looked upon his life as a success. But he did not dwell on such things.
Instead, he fixed his gaze across the valley that stretched out before him. Across the ravine he spied a herd of wild sheep, fleet of foot and almost dancing across the rubble fields.
For a split second the hunter in him stirred, muscles tensed in anticipation. But the urge passed, for he felt his great age – and now the comfort of a sheltering cave and dry sedge appealed to him far more than the call of the chase.