Prometheus

The Eagle's Lament

He spotted the eagle not long after sun had chased the slate grey of twilight from the dawn sky. A brown speck soaring high, the familiar upturned bow of her wings not yet visible. He was glad the sun would soon drive the bitter chill of the mountain night from his bones. This was the best part of the day. Well, the least bad part of the day and night. The cold numbed the sores where his shackled wrists and ankles bound him to the rock. After his liver had regrown during the night, the wound below his sternum had closed and was healing.