The great plains are wrapped in chords of striating buffalo limbs. From the vantage point above, he watches as they move towards the cliff. They are piled high by morning, calling for the circling birds to decend again and again. A mass of heart and sinew gather the wind; bones submit to the rush. Boots on necks; boots trampling the great earth, replace hoof prints, and the shallow dimples their bellies leave in the high hair grass.