The Warrior, Mastodon Series, Book Two

By James Strauss

25,000 years ago a young man, Daryl, comes of age and observes how social structure works. He was not a part of the close-knit social order that held all male members of the tribe together in a nearly invisible grip. The small waves and nods, or even looks of recognition and acceptance, were only witnessed, never received or given the opportunity to be returned. His presence was acknowledged, but no dialogue ever seemed to be offered or developed about anything of substance. He could not decide which status he preferred, that of being the outcast he had been or that of being the warrior hero he was but no one wanted to accept. Neither role allowed him entry into the most vital leadership part of the tribe, and there was no way to understand why...

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Strauss
• Release date: Jul 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463342572

James Strauss

I was born into a Coast Guard family during WWII. Have lived in four countries and twenty-seven states, in places from South Manitou Island, to Santa Fe, New Mexico, to Honolulu, Hawaii. I experienced a variety of positions in many careers, from being a Marine Corps Officer wounded in Vietnam, life insurance agent, physician’s assistant, and a college professor in anthropology.As a CIA team leader in the field I traveled to 122 countries, where he remains welcome in most of them to this day. I currently live in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin and continuing to build from a newspaper publishing foundation called the Geneva Shore Report. This weekly is also published online at TheGenevaShoreReport.Com.I write about the human condition. The interaction that occurs throughout social systems, among elemental forces of leadership, religion and science. I write about the individual’s attempted integration into such social systems and attempt to define honor, integrity and duty, while I develop my stories.My novels and short stories focus on self-determination and self-discovery. They are about arrival. The arrival and satisfaction of a blissful state from which one can intelligently reflect and then positively direct one’s life.The Meaning of Life is all around us and ever changing, depending upon the perspective of others. I write about the meaning of self, and self-application to the meaning of life.You can also find me on Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, and Google+

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The Warrior

The Mastodons: Book II

Chapter I

The village common played out before him, its curved oval ends readily apparent in the complex angles created by the low afternoon sun. The opposite wall, composed of gray stone held together with a mud-clay mortar, was hung with the skins of tribal prey, the pelts dry, air-tanned, and hand sewn. The multi-sized and colored leather display served as an interesting backdrop of decoration as well as continuing the hide-softening sun-tanning process.

Daryl sat, legs folded under him, his straight back pushed solidly into the structural wall. His novel throwing stick was unslung, sitting just before him, looking more like a piece of scrapwood and leather than the astoundingly effective weapon he knew it to be.

He looked up and across the common. A single circular opening to the empty gathering area lay just to his left, while a huge fire pit took up much of its center directly to his front. But he didn’t really notice all these familiar shapes. His gaze was focused upon the more distant craggy facade that rose up to become the great escarpment the village was butted up to. It rose from a littered base not more than thirty man heights from the outside of the community wall. Even from his current distance from the massive wall, he had to angle his head back to see to the very top edge. Staring up into the darkening distance, Daryl thought long and hard about the changes that had so immediately come into his life.

It was almost impossible to believe that it had been only the night before that he and his best friend Nado had been made Warriors of the Tribe, a full four summer solstices before any such advancement had ever been made to any males before. What seemed so wonderful, in the celebration of the night last had become worrying and a little frightening with the dawn. The boys were entirely lacking in warrior training. Both of them had been undesirable outcasts — Daryl for his supposed cowardice back from the time of the Great Earthmove and Nado for being a cripple. The normal warrior path for boys of the tribe, from novice to apprentice and then on into assigned journeymen, hadn’t been available to them with their lowly status. And then everything changed almost instantly and they were somehow supposed to be able to function as real warriors and hunters without ever having gone through any of the training or experience.

Daryl stared upward, shivering slightly in the cool late afternoon breeze. He focused back on his throwing stick and then pushed one end into the soft sand. His entire life had been one of disfavored, albeit grudging, acceptance. It had also been one of freedom. He and Nado had been as free as the bird, Tagawan, to come and go when and where they pleased. This new warrior role appeared to be something else entirely. Daryl felt unsure whether his shivering was really all from the cold.

Nado had eclipsed Daryl by being appointed directly to the Warriors’ Council. That move had come at a speed unheard of, even among all the old tales of ancient tribal lore. And what had they really done to cause such monumental changes? Daryl had befriended a baby Mur in trouble while in the depths of his own great tribulations. And Nado had, in turn, befriended him. Essentially, that was it. Everything else just seemed to flow along, like the Great River itself, mindless, but at times intensely peaceful and yet always filled with the potential for peril and violence. And fast. It always flowed so very fast.

Daryl grasped the leather thong of the stick, winding it tight around his right wrist. It gave him an easy reassuring feeling of control and power. The weight of all the events that had transpired fell heavily on his young shoulders. Only fourteen summer solstices had passed, yet he felt old, and even more displaced than before. He thought of his father, the tribe’s senior hunter, and also its largest warrior. The man was busy attaching war feathers to Daryl’s new spear for the coming night’s celebration, where it would be presented in its final warrior’s form.

And Nado’s father, Daryl knew, was about the same work as his father’s. Where before their appointments, both boys had been little more than small useless nuisances requiring shelter and sustenance, now it was almost as if they hadn’t advanced at all. Perversely, it was as if their fathers had been raised to some higher level, not them. Earlier in the day, Daryl watched the older men argue and disagree over just which feathers should be used for proper decoration of the spears. Daryl didn’t even want the heavy cumbersome weapon. He fingered the cup of his throwing stick, where the river bottom stones fit so well. It was his speed and dissembling quick agility that had been the boy’s allies, and the throwing stick supported those attributes. Hauling around a heavy spear was only good for ceremonies.

Daryl slowly rose up, turning his back to the great escarpment behind him and facing out to look across the wide river valley. Far in the distance another cliff face, on the other side, was being touched by the last rays of the setting sun. Every fair day of the summer would see a brief but welcome wind rise up and blow across the valley, just as the sun went down. The Shaman said that it was Nature’s good night kiss to the tribe, but Daryl thought otherwise. His brow furrowed, as it did most times when he thought of the Shaman and his preaching. It seemed that there were a good many more beings spread across the entire valley, and they were all touched by Nature’s kiss. He strapped the throwing stick across his back, breathed in the last of the warm refreshing breeze, and tried to think no further about the Shaman, although the man was never truly out of his thoughts or life.

Adjusting the wrist strap on his throwing stick before setting off, he couldn’t get over the fact of the weapon’s existence, or how much negative controversy it’d raised. The stick could propel carefully selected, fist-sized stones at an unbelievable speed. The stones flew twice as far as the lightest spear and struck with deadly force and accuracy. But the tribe’s seasoned warriors wouldn’t adopt them. Only he and Nado carried them, no matter that their use of them had helped save the entire tribe.

For all their new warrior-, Council-, or even hero-status, nobody really wanted to hear anything either he or Nado said, unless it was to recount their heroic achievement in confronting the herd of Mur and then driving the huge animals from the village. Since the story they were forced to tell wasn’t what had happened at all, neither Daryl nor Nado wanted to speak of it. They both had found that once the village came to believe something, it wouldn’t allow for any change to that established belief. Daryl’s attempt to tell the real story received a single hearing, and that had been by his mother. She only smiled and then told him it would probably be better if he followed the tribe’s version, along with everyone else.

Daryl slung the accompanying sewn-skin tube around his slim hips. The tube comfortably carried a single row of the throwing stones in just such a manner so that they didn’t interfere with his running or cause abrasions along his side or back. It’d taken a lot of trial and error to improve and re-sew the slightly twisted tube to get it just right. His final piece of equipment was the flint knife he’d found so long ago on the island. He placed it into a small pouch at his right hip and then started on the path toward the river below. Tagawan, the bird, had been absent for all of the day, and that made Daryl mildly concerned. The bird and he had become friends almost three summers before and although the bird disappeared for the frozen winter months, once back, it could always be depended upon to complain and grouse around just beyond the confines of the village proper, to the irritation of many of the village’s occupants. The bird was loud and he gave alarm at the smallest of provocations.

As he made his way down to the rushing water, Daryl thought about his strange, accidental relationship with first the Mur and then the bird. The hunters and warriors treated animals as gifts of food from Nature. They believed that animals were put in the valley to be eaten by the tribe. The Shaman used special ceremonies to thank Nature, and sometimes even the animal itself, if that particular animal’s food mass was large enough to feed more than one family.

Daryl knew of no other tribal member who regarded such a lowly food animal as a friend. Even Nado had only the most cursory of relationships with Tagawan, and that was more argumentative than friendly. Somehow, Daryl’s befriending of such beings made almost everyone in the tribe uncomfortable, especially when such things were negatively interpreted by the Shaman, Huslinth.

The sound of the water always seemed faintly more ominous when the light faded. Daryl watched the water flow rapidly toward the deeply booming falls ahead, as he walked the path at its edge.

Tagawan! he called out, his voice high-pitched so it would rise above the deep sound of the great falls. His furrowed brow smoothed immediately, and a great smile creased his face, when a tremendous squawk answered his call. Passing around some tall interfering bushes, Daryl saw the bird up ahead. It sat atop the single stone among a pile that it had claimed as its perch.

The full-grown bird launched itself at Daryl as he rounded the curve, then thudded clumsily into his left shoulder. Tagawan righted himself and stood, his talons biting just a little too deeply through the boy’s leather to be comfortable. Daryl shook his head. He was always astonished that such a creature could be so sleek and smooth in flight, yet turn into such a fumbling fool upon landing on anything solid. And then there was the bird’s strange response to such blatant mistakes. As he now did, Tagawan buried his head under the thick plumage of one wing and cooed softly, acting more like an embarrassed small child than the full-grown bird he was.

Well, at least you’re here, Daryl said to the bird. At the same time much of the frustration and tension the boy had been holding inside his body seemed to leak out. He stood next to the waist high perch, looked out over the water, as the bird prepared to launch itself into the chasm deep below. Absently, he poked the bird’s thick body with one finger. Tagawan’s head came out, and his thick sharp beak pecked swiftly at the offending digit, but Daryl’s hand had already been automatically withdrawn, and very quickly. The boy had suffered many painful pecks from such previous violations, although he remained unsure, even to the present time, about whether the bird meant the sharp pecks as punishment or simply as a painful form of animal affection. He smiled at his thoughts, preferring to think in terms of the affection explanation.

Tagawan’s head snapped up and around to full alert, causing Daryl to wince back. He turned to see Nado coming down the path around the large bush. Nado laughed as he approached, obviously happy that he’d surprised Tagawan to the extent that the bird didn’t have time to give out one of his terrible warning squawks. It was the first opportunity for the boys to meet, with no one else present except the bird, since the tremendous events of the day and last night past. Both had been so swamped by family, the tribal children, and even the warriors themselves, that they hadn’t the opportunity to get away or be alone.

Daryl squatted down on one side of the small, but very clear pool, that rested at the base of Tagawan’s perch. It was the same pool in which Daryl had scrubbed infesting parasites from the bird’s feathers at the beginning of their strange relationship. Tagawan remained on the boy’s shoulder, his twitching head constantly moving, cooing only a few times to acknowledge Nado’s either welcome, or unwelcome, presence.

Nado assumed the same position on the other side of the pool, both boys staring for a time at the darkly reflecting surface. There was so much to discuss that Daryl couldn’t think of where to begin. He was a little resentful of Nado’s appointment to the Council. After all, it had been Daryl’s relationship with Murgatroyd, the lead Mur, that saved everyone. But he didn’t want to be on the Council himself, or even a warrior anymore, so he couldn’t understand his own resentment. Then he thought about the Shaman and was struck by feelings of vague and unidentifiable fear. When he’d used the one wish the Chief had granted him, he’d used it to lay claim to Huslinth’s daughter, Parlon. Daryl still could not get over the intense animosity he’d seen in the Shaman’s eyes at that time.

Daryl wanted to ask questions of his friend who had also become his only counselor in life. He wanted to pour out his worries and concerns, to discuss the unaccountable fear that lay within his belly like spoiled food, but he could not think of how to begin, so he remained silent. The bird made small sounds from time to time, as it groomed, and it grew ever darker as they continued to squat.

Finally, Nado broke the silence.

Parlon? he asked, tentatively, his eyes coming up to meet Daryl’s across the water.

The thunder of the nearby falls somehow impacted both boys with its powerful presence. Suddenly, at the same time, both boys began to laugh, at first quietly and then loud enough to overpower the roar of the falling waters. Tagawan even joined in with his awful squawking cries.

Of all the things you could have asked for? Nado began to shake his head as he spoke, his disbelieving gentle laughter reduced to a smile. How could you be the same boy that created the throwing stick, that befriended and then subdued the mighty Mur? But then, when given the opportunity of all time to have anything, you ask for a girl! And not just any girl, but the Shaman’s daughter.

Daryl had no reply, so Nado went on.

Maybe it was the Great Earthmove. It struck you so hard that it made you smart for awhile, but now you’ve returned to the stupidity of old.

Daryl held up his right hand, afraid to get his left too close to Tagawan’s sharp beak. Enough, enough, he gasped, barely loud enough to carry over the small pool against the onslaught of river noise. I like her, he started to explain, but could only look sheepish and defensive as he found nothing to add.

Oh, that’s good, Nado immediately replied. You know absolutely nothing about her except that none of the ‘real’ warriors want anything to do with her, and her father, the Shaman, no less, would like to see you sacrificed at the next Solstice, to Nature herself.

Into Daryl’s mute silence, Nado stared. He asked only one more question.

Have I missed something?

Daryl turned away to avoid Nado’s intense and questioning look, but then shook his head briefly. Tagawan squawked once, as if to add emphasis to the concluding correctness of Nado’s comments.

What are we going to do? Nado asked into the silence.

About what? Daryl responded, his attention still focused on thinking about Parlon, and the still unknown complexities of claiming her.

Our fathers are making warrior spears, Nado responded. The next thing will be our attendance on a hunting party. What are we supposed to do on a hunt, learn as we go along? Nobody’s ever been a full warrior at our age, and certainly not without any training.

That’s what, he concluded, when Daryl didn’t say anything in reply. And what about our climbs to the ancient ruins? And what are you going to do with that stupid bird? Nado pointed at Tagawan still perched atop Daryl’s left shoulder. The bird squawked back loudly, as if offended by the meaning of Nado’s pointing finger. And then there’s the claiming process with Parlon.

He said the last words slowly, with a small measure of derision and disbelief thrown in.

They were so deep in thought and conversation that they hadn’t paid much attention to what was going on around them. The descending sun’s last light fell upon them, while the rush of the waters over the lip of the chasm continued to wash out most other sound. Even Tagawan had been lulled by either his reattachment to Daryl, or the intensity of the conversation. None of the them heard the approach of anyone until she spoke.

What ancient ruins? Parlon asked quietly, stepping from behind Daryl to join them, the tone of her voice indicating she’d heard most of what they’d been discussing.

Both boys froze. Tagawan made some small clucking sound rather than letting out one of his piercing squawks. Daryl turned to face Parlon, as did Nado.

The ruins, Daryl squeaked out in resignation. Up on the plateau.

Daryl pointed up above the village to the high lip of the jutting cliff face.

I want to go, Parlon stated, her voice a demanding near whisper.

Nado sighed deeply, while Daryl reached up to massage his forehead with his right hand.

Chapter II

Both Daryl and Nado waited, stoic but impatient, through the long ceremonial dinner, then through several more recitations of their grand exploits about the epic conquest of the Mur, the saving of the village, and the personal courage each had exhibited. Finally, the culmination of events was the formal presentation of their ceremonial spears by their fathers. Each man rose to describe the process of its manufacture and the symbolism denoted by each piece, from the needle sharp flint points, the smooth, stone-polished hardwood shafts, and finally the very rare black and white predator bird feathers. That this event was a repeat of what they had already experienced the night before only seemed to effect Daryl with a kind of boredom.

Once again, the boy noted that while the villagers cheered and applauded during many parts of the festivities, especially when hearing again of the boys’ adventurous feats performed on their behalf, the senior warriors remained expressionless, seemingly unmoved, and, from Daryl’s viewpoint, cold as a midwinter morning. Possibly his father could explain their non-reaction to him at a later time.

One senior warrior in particular glared at Daryl throughout the ceremony. His name was Magabo, and he was the Chief’s son. Daryl had never spoken to the warrior, although he knew that his father had no use for the headstrong and arrogant man.

Although the evening seemed to last forever, in reality it ended early. The tribe was primarily ruled by the light of sun. Except for very special celebrations of the summer and winter equinox, and for the return from very successful hunts, the village did not spend its heating resources to maintain the central bonfire, or the many torches necessary to occupy the gathering place through the night.

Daryl had promised Nado that he would meet with his mother right after the events and then get together with him just outside the village walls to discuss what they were going to do at dawn of the next day. He waited at the first bend of the path, as it began its drop down to the water. The sound of the falls was distant from there and could almost be more felt through his feet, than heard. It was cold, so he paced back and forth a bit, but he did not have to wait long. Nado approached quickly, in his eagerness to know more. Neither of them carried their new heavy spears, although no other warrior ever stepped away from the village area without his main weapon. The boys crouched down without greeting, assuming their normal position facing one another about a full man-length apart.

Well? Nado said before Daryl had a chance to say a word and the boy was once again surprised by the expectant enthusiasm that Nado possessed whenever they discussed the formal rules that governed all tribal members, no matter what their station. He smiled, wondering how he could have felt jealous of the other boy’s appointment to the Council. He knew, only such a short time later, that he would be terribly bored if he had been selected. Even the festivities in his honor had been uncomfortable. Part of that had been his having to sit through the lies about his own greatness. But much of it was simply due to that fact that he enjoyed movement and activity many times more than long sedentary discussions held within large groups of people.

Well? Nado said again, this time gesturing with his one good arm.

Daryl was always mildly irritated by such controlling actions on the part of the other boy, but he never said anything. Nado’s devotion, loyalty, and wise counsel during the years of their outcast life just would not allow Daryl to criticize him for such small infractions.

It’s very complicated, he said, finally, pausing for a few extra breaths simply because he felt pushed into an immediate answer.

And it was complicated, he thought, as he watched Nado squeeze and raise one side of his upper lip in frustration. Both boys had been constantly inculcated with the seemingly never-ending series of small rules that governed every aspect of tribal interaction, from cooking, building, cleaning, carrying, eating, right into the time and manner of one’s attendance. Then there was what was to be worn, how firewood was to be sought and in what size. It never seemed to end. On top of the ordinary things of life in a village, now they also had to contend with the more secret activities, usually only alluded to and not directly spoken of, such as hunting, warrior training, and sexual activities.

The claiming process fell under the last category. It was not so secret that it was never discussed, unlike certain areas of the Shaman’s province, or the secret rites of passage to manhood or the birthing process, but it was not something anyone learned about because it was openly discussed. Daryl finally let up on Nado, whom had settled into a lower squat, with a deep frown creasing his young brow.

I can be with her during the process, but only when another member of the tribe is present. Always. We cannot be alone, ever.

Nado thought for a moment, his frown disappearing, his gaze unfocused as he considered the problem and their situation. Daryl waited, knowing that the other boy was well into his own area.

Yes, I can understand that. We knew that, he whispered, almost to himself.

And they had witnessed such activity all around the village, Daryl realized, but neither of them had ever paid any attention to it, much less making any comment.

Then we have no problem. I am a warrior. In fact, a member of the Council, he went on unnecessarily, completely missing Daryl’s visible wince. So, my presence should allow her to go wherever we want, including up to the ruins. He nodded as he finished, his tone indicating how satisfied he was with the conclusion.

That’s not all, Daryl said quietly, pausing for another few breaths, but this time because of his own misgivings. I can’t touch her or come into contact with her in any way, and, and here is the real problem. She can’t speak to me unless I speak first.

Nado started to laugh, but Daryl did not join him. He could only watch, with his face displaying a rueful expression.

Oh, that is good, Nado said, almost choking the words out. We are talking about the same Parlon, are we not? he went on. Finally, he got himself under control and stopped the audible expressions. This is going to be a disaster for all of us. And she’s already broken the rules.

Daryl sat across from his friend, barely able to see him under the dim light of the risen half-moon. There was no wind so the coolness of the summer night was not enough to cause discomfort. Faint sounds from the not very distant village came to him, as everyone prepared to secure for the short seasonal night. He tried not to think of the near crushing pressures that had somehow fallen upon him.

Does the sun really move slower across the sky in summer, and so the day is longer? he mused, only half aloud. Or does nature punish us for half of the year by making its light colder, because there can be no goodness allowed by nature that is not balanced by the bad?

Nado did not answer this time, and Daryl wondered if the other boy might think that he, Daryl, the stable dependable one, might have gone completely crazy. His mind was inexorably drawn back to the matter at hand. It was true. There was absolutely no question that Parlon was riven through with a wild spirit. It was transmitted like a beacon through her eyes, demonstrated by her unbending straight posture. And when she spoke, the directness could be like a splash of winter-cold river water. But he also knew, without any sense of amazement, that to him it made her all the more attractive.

What do you think is wrong with her? Nado asked, pointedly.

Daryl took a minute to reflect before responding.

Wrong? Yes, she’s too much like you, that’s all.

Nado grimaced but would not push the issue any further. Then he shivered and looked back in the direction of the village.

It’s cold and late. Is there anything else of importance you got from your mother?

She really hasn’t broken the rules. Not really, Daryl said. The claiming process doesn’t begin until I present her father with a gift of appropriate value. Mother would not say what ‘appropriate value’ meant. I am supposed to figure that out for myself. He paused a few breaths before going on. We better think about what we’re going to find for her.

We? Nado blurted back quickly. What are we going to find for her father? He shook his head and sniffed out one long exhalation of air.

What about one of the throwing stones? he went on, after a few more breaths, ignoring his expressed disbelief in being included in the gift giving responsibilities.

They both sat in silence to think about one of their few possessions of real value, and what it might mean to reveal the truth about some of the stones taken from the island.

No, Daryl finally replied. The secret of the stones is one that we must keep, especially for Huslinth.

The unusual and uncommon small stones they had discovered for throwing purposes were hollow in the center, which made them light enough to heave at very high velocities. When one had broken upon impact they had found it’s hollowed center was surrounded by large, clear crystals. There was nothing like the crystals in the village, or even in any of the trade materials the village had ever received from other tribes located upriver. Or at least, not that the boys had been able to discover.

No, Daryl repeated, even though Nado had said nothing. We’ll break one of the stones and see if we can get a single crystal large enough to maybe be valuable enough to be appropriate, whatever that is.

The throwing stone which had broken to reveal its precious interior had struck a larger rock with such speed that the interior had been broken into many smaller pieces, which Daryl knew had a significant value but maybe not enough to meet the needs of the claiming process. He knew that Huslinth was going to make successful completion of the process just as difficult as possible. Since he was the tribal Shaman, second in power only to the Chief himself, that would be difficult indeed. He fingered the bottom of his knife pouch, where crystals formed a small roundish bulge.

Tomorrow, up at the ruins, we’ll talk again, he said to his friend, Maybe we’ll find something else.

But it was obvious from Nado’s reply that there was more than just the claiming process and all its complexity in their lives that was bothering him.

Yes, up there. But she’ll be there. And it will be pretty hard to make sure she doesn’t see what we are working with, or what we are doing to it. She’ll know, he went on, his voice so low now, that it was almost a whisper. She may be a lot of things, but dumb is not one of them. Is it really safe to take her?

Although he had delivered the last question in such a tone that it really wasn’t a question at all, he was finally forced to give in on the point by Daryl’s silence. He gave in weakly.

Alright, but I tried to warn you.

Daryl awoke early, just before the sun, threw on his leathers and equipment, then quietly made his way outside the structure, to watch the far distant escarpment become illuminated by the first yellow rays of the morning sun. It was his way in summer. He saw no one, which was normal. When he reached the bottom of the path, instead of turning toward the falls he moved briefly upriver, shedding everything he had on at the bank. The water was bitter cold when he entered, and he was careful not to allow the voracious current to catch hold of him. Why the water was almost freezing, even at this time of a year, remained a mystery unsolved by anyone in the tribe. Huslinth said that cold was death and life warmth. It was true that the river had taken many lives, and consequently was never crossed. Daryl and Nado were among the few whom had learned to paddle in its back eddies and few still pools. But at first, the cold could paralyze the muscles and create enormous fear, and it was a fear that Daryl thought to be much more dangerous than the cold.

He pulled himself hand over hand back through the mild current until his feet sank deeply into the semi-soft sand of the bank bottom. The sand could be scooped to clean the body, even hair, just as it was used by the tribal women to clean hunting garments or those for daily wear.

Daryl redressed himself, after dripping for many breaths to allow the water to leave most of his body. Then he crossed his legs, sat on the bank and watch the water flow by. It was hypnotic as it sped over rocks, sometimes moving them and generating deep, bell-like sounds. The island, with its single huge tree rising up, remained unchanged, despite the three solstices having passed since his first visit. A time of seemingly small consequence, but also a period, as he thought back, which almost appeared to be an entire lifetime.

And it was nearly impossible to think of the time before the Earthmove and the Great Wave. Before that event, the river had still been a source of life to the tribe, but only as a trickle of necessary water. There had been no huge falls, and the water had been warm in summer.

He stood, with a last wistful look out to the embattled little island, still feeling its strange draw. He would return to it soon, he promised himself, strapping on the throwing stick and securing his stone tube. His mother had also allowed him to take a small sack of dried meat and hard ground roots the night before. This he carried over one shoulder. He would use thin-cut animal skin thongs to secure it during the climb.

When he leaned down to pick up his new heavy spear, Daryl thought of Nado. Rare were the mornings that they did not perform the early river washing and swimming ritual together. Nado, with his one crippled arm, was even more natural in the water, as in climbing, than Daryl. He wondered if the new tensions brought about by their changes in life would so deeply affect them so as to cause their friendship to be broken. Or maybe Nado’s absence was caused by his obvious distaste for the girl, as he preferred to call Parlon.

Daryl shook his head as he hefted the ungainly weapon and tried to properly balance it for running, his normal mode of travel. There was no choice but to carry the thing, as no self-respecting warrior was ever seen without theirs. Making good life decisions, which he did not seem to be doing lately, had been so much easier just days before.

With his free hand he loosened a single thong, swept it back and up under his long hair, then wrapped and tightened it into a single bunch, leaving the end of the thong to hang forward over his left shoulder. He flexed his arm on that same side, the one he would use to carry the spear. Daryl grasped it midway along its thick shaft and began a light easy run. He would never encumber his right arm as that must always be immediately available for accessing his real weapon, the throwing stick. His knew his gait was becoming longer as he grew, but he was also adding more weight as his muscles developed. The cliff climbing seemed to add bulk to his body all by itself, or at least so Nado had theorized in his daily, and constant, musings. Still, thinking of the night before, he remembered Parlon standing before them. She was still measurably taller than him.

Deep in thought about such things, he quickly made his way along the well-traveled path, the spear bothering his balance only