Worlds Apart. William L Frame

day.

      No sound from the hunter’s moccasins soft leather soles could be heard as he maneuvered his way through the trees, ever closer to within his bow’s striking distance. The runners were still unaware of his presence as he slowly stalked them, keeping himself downwind of the herd’s dominant and alert stallion. He was a tall, well-proportioned runner for his breed and bore the scars of many suitors’ challenges over the seasons on his rump and shoulders. The tall golden-brown stallion was a stern ruler of his herd, biting or kicking any runner who tried to disobey his commands. The hunter crept closer, admiring the beautiful, fearless, and formidable leader of the herd.

      His concealing shelter of trees soon thinned out, giving way to small evergreen shrubs and long green blades of grass, forcing the hunter to conceal himself by lying down on his belly in the damp grass. His leather tunic and trousers absorbed some of the moisture as he crawled ever closer to his target, unmindful of the various insects inhabiting the grass.

      His travel rations were nearly depleted; he needed this kill. He would only get one chance to shoot before the herd scattered in panic but only if he was quiet, patient, and quick to act when the time was right. Every so often, he’d raise his eyes above the grass to mark his progress toward the herd. Now sure of being within killing range of his bow, he slowly raised himself up onto a knee, keeping as low to the ground as the long, thick grass would allow.

      To the right of his position, he spotted and selected his prey, a young brown colt scampering around his mare with the playfulness of youth. He estimated the colt’s age was no more than half a season, just right to provision one man. Sadly, while thinking the colt’s short life would end to benefit his own, he drew his arrow back to the bows full tension, stood, and loosed his dart at the unsuspecting animal. The arrow’s flight was swift and true striking his intended target through the breast and into its heart. He watched as the shocked colt jumped into the air with the arrow’s deadly penetration and fell back to the ground beside its mare, still and lifeless.

      The mare immediately sensed her colt was lost and shrilly whinnied her warning, alerting the stallion of danger. Instantly, the stallion ran toward him in defense of his mares. The young hunter stood his ground with another arrow already notched and ready in his bow as the majestic stallion valiantly charged toward him, as the mares obeyed his commands and withdrew.

      He drew his weapon back to its fullest extent as the stallion continued to advance. Calming his excitement, he took a few slow deep breaths steadying the arrow poised for instant flight. He watched the stallion race bravely toward his position when suddenly it turned away and swiftly ran up behind his mares. He whinnied as it ran behind them, sounding out his commands, pushing them ever onward, racing away to safety, down across the plain far away from the unexpected death. Leaving in their wake a wide swath of brown churned-up ground, effectively separating the herd from the silent, deadly, and unfamiliar predator that sprang out of the tall grass.

      With a sigh of relief and an exuberant whoop of triumph, the young hunter sprang forward and ran toward his life-giving kill. Once the butchering was complete and the meat dried, the colt would provide him with at least a moon’s travel rations that could be easily carried in his backpack. Looking around to ensure no other predator was seeking to challenge his claim to the kill, the strong young hunter hefted the dead colt over his shoulders and walked out of the valley toward a cropping of trees and shrubs partially covering a narrow opening to a cave. The cave was large enough to house a small tribe for the winter; he had found it by chance in the waning light two days ago. From the mouth of the cave, the trees’ and shrubs’ haphazard growth obscured the view of the valley and noisy herd beasts that roamed the grassy plain. The cave’s secluded location provided him with a very secure place in which to prepare his kill.

      His journey south began at first thaw of winter’s freezing grip with his mother’s wish of a safe return. He left her carrying a backpack filled with travel rations containing pouches of wild rice, oats, wheat, assorted dried fruit, dried meat, and his favorite snack, stone-baked berry-and-grain honey cakes as well as spare clothes and useful tools. It was now late spring, and it had taken the young adventurer nearly the whole season to cross the mountain’s perilous gap without injury or incident worth remembering, except that he had crossed it.

      His backpack was much lighter now. His spare clothes, sleeping fur, various lengths of coiled rawhide strips, extra knives, a pair of wooden spoons, two wooden cooking bowls, a few flintknapping tools, two large shards of flint, and an empty water pouch were the extent of his worldly possessions other than his travel rations, which were nearly depleted consisting of two thin strips of dried meat, a single hard cake, and the remains of a grain pouch mixed with the last of the dried fruit.

      He had decided not to eat his last hard cake until he made a successful hunt, to savor it as a treat, in order to honor the animal’s sacrifice with his mother’s specialty snack. The thought of his mother brought a brief smile to the otherwise stern face of the young hunter as he entered the cave and set his burden down beside the wall by the entrance. He then knelt beside the smoldering coals of his morning fire situated near the mouth of the cave and began to blow over the coals, which turned the smoldering embers a bright red with the influx of fresh air. He added small thin twigs until flickers of flame began to dance upon them and then a few larger broken branches for the tiny flames to consume. Within moments, he was warming his hands with the little fire’s increasing heat as he added more branches from a pile of sticks resting beside the pit. He set the last of the branches from his pile into the fire. The flames rose in the stone pit, kicking its wavy tendrils higher into the air illuminating the cave around him. The hunter then added a couple of logs as thick as his arms to the flames, increasing its heat to comfortably warm and dry the caves damp, cool air. He checked his store of firewood and figured it would last the night.

      The area around his firepit had been prepared the night before in anticipation of a successful hunt. Three sets of upright branches buried deeply into the cave floor for support were strung with the lengths of leather strips from his supplies stored in the backpack. They would serve as drying racks. The fire’s smoky heat would dehydrate the meat into hard jerky to be eaten dry as he walked or cooked in a bowl of simmering stew.

      The hunter began the arduous task of butchering his kill by carrying the colt back out onto the grass, far enough away from the cave to keep him and his meat safe from predators and scavengers that would soon be attracted by the smell of fresh blood. Working quickly, he gathered up an armful of the long grass and began to weave the tough fibrous blades into a mat large enough and tough enough to hold the butchered strips of meat. His work was quick and efficient, and he soon had a thick tightly woven mat ready to hold the meat. He worked with the sureness of long practice, and before long, a respectful quantity of meat was piled high on the woven mat. He then covered the meat with the colt’s inner hide and began to drag the loaded mat back to his cave, leaving the bones and scraps to the scavengers and small predators sure to be drawn to the area by the smell of fresh blood.

      It was late in the afternoon before he returned safely inside the warm cave with the meat of his kill. The fire had died down but still had flames flickering on the burning wood, causing the shadows of the empty drying racks to sway across the cavern walls. The hunter added more wood to the fire and began the task of hanging the meat to dry. It was dark outside the cave by the time he had all the meat slung over the three drying racks near his blazing fire, letting the smoke and indirect heat begin the drying process. Rather than throwing out the grass mat, he rolled it up and tossed it into the flames to burn so no animal would be drawn by its smell to his cave, and if one did happen by, his fire and scent would keep it away. Tired from his day’s work, he rolled up the colt’s hide fur side out and placed it in the back of the cave, intending to scrape off the hide’s inner membranes the next day. “It will make a fine sleeping fur,” he said to the empty cave as he walked outside in order to relieve himself of a full bladder before lying down to sleep through the chilly night.

      Chapter 2

      Out of the Night’s Sky

      As the hunter stood outside the cave, letting his stream fall to the ground. He looked upward into the heavens to witness a meteor streaking across the night sky and then another and another. Through his eyes,