I wake to another morning. This time I am not alone , a beautiful woman lies with her leg draped over me. After a few quiet minutes we rise. I dress: I shrug my fur over my shoulders, secure the horned skull to my head, sling my spears across my back, and wrap the cord around my waist. I take my knives with me; no hunter goes out unarmed.
Annabel wakes and asks what I am doing. "I'm going out tonight to keep watch," I tell her. "Before I go, I will give tasks to the people in the village." While I finish packing, she walks toward her cave. She presses a small kiss to my lips before turning away. The day is for work. I have a plan in my head for the village , I cannot do everything myself. I will teach and delegate. Today's list: make axe and shovel heads, fashion spear points.
I step outside and greet the people. A scavenger bird waits in its cage, dead-eyed and awkward, and the crowd stands around it like it is a trophy. I like that; the trap was mine, and I should be the one to take the final strike. The crowd watches my hand as I reach for the spear and, in a single, clean motion, drive the point through the bird's neck. Blood arcs and pools; the bird slumps. The young men step forward without hesitation when I order them to skin and quarter the meat. They look at me and nod, the way men nod to a leader.
I find a long, flat stone nearby and gather two or three strong young men. I scoop some of the bird's blood into a dish and use it to mark out shapes on the rock , axe blades, spearheads, shovel edges. The red stains make the patterns stand out. I hand them sharp flakes of stone and tell them to strike those lines until a usable shape emerges. They work fast, chipping and pounding, sparks flying when stone meets stone. I tell them I will show them, later, how to secure those blades to handles and strengthen the bindings. They grunt and keep working, motivated by the noise and the purpose.
Karlmos appears while we are busy. He says that Chief Pre wants to see me. I nod and follow. Inside Pre's cave, Karlmos, myself, and a couple of other hardened warriors gather around the fire pit , though the fire is only for light here; neither tribe has full control of fire the way I do. Chief Pre spreads a rough map on the ground and points: "This is where they keep watch. Here is the river crossing. Here the ridge where their best hunters sit." He names the paths and chokepoints, the likely routes for raiders and the slow tracks used for carrying loads. I listen, measuring in my mind the opportunities and the risks.
Pre asks, "What do you intend to do?" I answer plainly: "I will watch them from a distance. I will make a detailed map and learn what tools they use." Then I add, to sharpen the point, "If necessary, I could remove their leader." The men fall silent; Karlmos scoffs at first , "We could never kill him," he says , but I see the thought spill across their faces like a shadow. They gauge me in this moment. Words have weight now. I tell them calmly: "Yesterday you did not understand the fire. Now you light a flame because of me. You warm yourself and cook. Trust me; I can do more." My voice has the calm of someone who has seen outcomes and learned patterns. Pre nods, but he cautions patience. "Watch," he says. "Report." I accept and leave with the approval that tastes like steel.
As dusk falls I smear mud over my face, arms, and legs to blend into the undergrowth. The wet grit dulls the shine of my skin and carries the scent of earth; it keeps me part of the night. I move out with my bow and the new arrows, my spears balanced against my shoulder like quiet promises. The forest swallows me, and I become a shadow among shadows. I find the other tribe, not by accident, but by following faint signs: the angled poles of a simple corral, the regular placement of small fires for cooking, the path flattened by repeated use. From a distance I observe and shift my position every few minutes to avoid detection. I keep low, crawl when necessary, and let the wind guide me; the smallest sound can betray a watcher.
At first glance, their camp looks larger and more organized than ours. Their shelters are more uniform, the posts tied with twisted fibers that hold tension. Some of their men carry tools that are more refined than ours: flaked blades with sharper, narrower points and hafts wrapped with sinew so they do not slip. I see short, broad axes, not clumsy lumps but well-shaped tools whose edges look like they will peg into wood cleanly. A few men have long poles tipped with thin, balanced spearheads , the kind that fly truer in a throw. Their slings are better spun and their stones smoother; I watch a young boy practice, and the pebble whistles on a path and lands dead-center between two markers. They are practiced. They iterate.
What surprises me is their system. At certain points along the ridge I see camouflaged hollows, rimmed with dead leaves, where traps are set. Hunters rotate duty at these points, and clearly they are organized , someone stores meat here, someone else watches and signals. They use small smoke channels to keep insects away from the food, even though they haven't learned to tend an open fire the way I can. Their ingenuity shows without the one advantage I alone wield.
Women at work have a rhythm to their tasks: one scrapes hide with a smooth, polished bone; another twists fiber into cord with efficient fingers. Children learn craft by carrying small bits of bark for the adults. Their leader moves among them with a clipped word and a pointed look; his presence bends the rhythm into order. When he speaks, people obey. He is not fat with comfort , he is sharp, with a face scored by hunts. If you look at his men, you can see they move as a unit, trained by the grind of daily practice and small ingenious improvements.
I note numbers: roughly forty to sixty adults; perhaps half the men are armed. They rotate sentries on the high knolls. I watch the pattern , one hour on, two hours off , and a crude signaling system using slate knocks and small mirrors or polished shells placed in line. Their defense is practical and worked out; they compensate for lack of fire with discipline and craft.
Sometimes a sound betrays me , a dry twig snaps under my foot where a mouse passes. Heads turn. A woman gives a quick call; a man looks toward my direction. I freeze, pressed into the loam, heartbeat loud. A shadow moves across a path and the watchman returns to his place. For a moment I taste iron, and my throat tightens. I cannot risk an open fight or a discovery that would alert them to me. I slip back and lower myself into thicker brush. The rule is plain: observe more, act later.
Up close, their leader's armor shows a clever use of layered hides and fastened plates, secured with cords that distribute shock. I study the seams , they are reinforced at stress points where clubs and spears would hit. If we face them in battle, striking at the seams and breaking their formation will be key. I note where they keep water caches and the paths used to fetch them: a small supply route that, if severed, will slow them in a fight.
By the time the moon sinks low, numbers of smaller details are sketched into my memory: the pattern of their watch rotations, the location of their best hunters, which families produce the strongest warriors, and where the weaker stores are kept. I test my patience and hold to Pre's instruction: for now I only watch. I file each fact away like a carved notch on a spear shaft.
Just before dawn I slip back toward my village. The sky is peeling into gray, and the first birds begin to call. I move like a shadow returning to its den. I enter my cave and sit with my notes, review every observation and sequence I have committed to memory. I trace routes on the dirt floor with a stick as if drawing a map, marking choke points and likely weak spots. Their lack of fire does not make them harmless; in many ways they are more dangerous , better tools, better discipline, a refined approach to defense.
I wait. Before the people wake, before I present my report, I polish each detail in my mind so that when they ask, I offer not guesses but plans. If war is unavoidable, this information will tell us where to strike and where to avoid. If peace is possible, it will tell us how to speak from a place of knowledge. And for now , before the sun comes fully up , I sit quiet, watching the entrance, waiting to be called.