It has apparently been three decades since our tribe migrated to this island.
The trees and plants are young, but they provide enough food for the entire tribe on rough hunting days when the only thing we were able to hunt were tiny birds.
Tiki Island, as the elders of our tribe called it, was a great place to live, and my healthy, recently matured body is proof of this.
I have enough strength to lift significantly heavier than the women, speed to flee from mighty beasts, intellect to set up traps and discern whether it is safe to continue hunting or not, and stamina to last throughout an entire day of work.
A significant part of our survival was apparently the natural runes in our body, however, so we must nourish them through sorcery.
The others and I of the same generation were now of age, and the tribe's head shaman would be teaching us sorcery soon.
But I, Hal, have a secret.
