Karem'a struggled up the last few feet of the sheer mountain trail, pausing to catch her breath before she staggered over to the ravine where Dunmkkn lay mortally wounded, while she gazed down on his recumbent form, never knowing that, in just about 5,000 years time, the remains of this hated body would be found by some intrepid hikers, causing a furious uproar, due to the proximity of two international borders, and she coiled up the thin, dirty-grey trip rope, tucking it away in her wolf-hide belt, satisfaction oozing from the dirt-encrusted pores of her body, and drying in a sweaty sheen, matting her hair even further, muttered softly to herself, though in truth, there was no one alive now to hear her words, "Take that you bastard!"
Source
T. R. Talbott, East Wenatchee, Washington. Contest Entry, 1997, Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest
The photo is not from the Italian-Austrian Alps where the Iceman was found, but from the western fiords of Iceland, but it does evoke the right image, don't ya think?
