Prologue
Ouzouk woke up with the first rays of sunlight hitting his face. He
scanned the interior of his dusty hut, constructed with twigs, mud and dry
grass. He scratched his back, which, as always, had been bitten by insects
over and over again throughout the night. Grateful that the night had passed
without any danger to his family, he crawled out, careful not to make any
sounds.
It was a crisp and clear morning. He would have loved to take his
family for a walk around the waterfall and play with his little son, but there
was work to do. It had been five days since the tribe ate something more
substantial than a fistful of berries. Unfazed by the bloodthirsty mosquitoes
buzzing by, Ouzouk walked over to the fire pit and warmed his calloused
hands. The light scent of wood smoke filled his nostrils. He rubbed his
hands together, still feeling the painful absence of his index finger lost
during that fateful hunt many moons ago.
One by one, his fellow tribesmen crawled out of their huts and joined
him at the fire. There was Dhizgab, his friend who was bitten by a snake
and was left partly paralyzed on his left side. Gnokk limped along next,
with his broken foot badly healed, and a part of his skull partly caved in
after a stone thrown by an enemy tribesman hit him smack dab in the
middle of his forehead. Rekknodd sauntered into the group next. So far, he
was the luckiest of the band, with only a deep scar on his cheek, left from
an attack by a tiger that had massacred a half of the tribe. Other men—some
missing limbs, some having lost their entire families, some with even more
horrible memories—joined the group.
When the men were ready, they separated into two groups and
ventured out to secure food for the tribe. They made it back to the camp in
the early afternoon, forced to make a hasty retreat after spotting a leopard
resting in the thick bushes. Yet again, they had failed to obtain food, but at
least they were grateful that (unlike two moons ago) this time nobody had
been hurt
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