The day was not yet over, I would use both primitive and practical methods to train my bison. If necessary, I would starve it, if necessary, I would heal its wounds and treat it, but I would never strike it, never cause it pain. It had to trust me, and in battle I had to be able to trust it. I also had to find a suitable name for it. In these ancient lands every warrior had a title, and beside him, his animal deserved one as well. Beneath the shadow of my own title, Scream Of Fire, I believed it too deserved a name.
I took two working women with me and entered my tent, giving them my orders. "Organize this place," I said, "in the very center of my tent place a massive pile of wood, tomorrow I will light a fire here. Around it spread enough hides for 20 to 30 people to sit. And where I will sit, build me a throne." I described what I wanted by recalling a scene from an old film: a throne surrounded by wood, branches rising high, and in the middle a grand, majestic seat. I explained how the structure should look and told them that if needed, they could ask the warriors who worked in construction for help. They quickly grabbed their axes and went into the forest, I wanted the job done strong and properly.
Then I turned toward the cage where the bison was kept. A giant beast stood there, broad-shouldered and heavy, a true mountain of muscle. Its two massive horns reminded me of the ones on my helmet, though far more enormous and intimidating. First, I extended a piece of meat toward it, it reacted aggressively, stepping back and preparing to strike. I pushed forward some of the grasses and reeds I had collected earlier in the village, and with a calm voice I called to it. The beast locked its eyes with mine, then slowly began to eat. The aim of this first day was not to starve it into madness, but to show that access to meat was a reward, and that approaching me brought safety and trust. This one would not be like the others, it would be a bison bound to me, trainable and loyal.
As it ate, I carefully touched it from behind, gently stroking, first near its ears, then across its massive shoulders. There was fear mixed with caution in its movements, but it needed to get used to it. Every day I would dedicate time to it, teaching it to associate my touch and my scent with familiarity and trust, and to respond positively to human contact. I thought about using a whistle as a command, every time I whistled it would learn to come to me, guided by a single sound. This would become both a practical signal and a bond of trust. Even while it ate I whistled softly at intervals, repeating the action so it would learn that this sound always meant something good, always meant reward.
While I was busy working with the bison I did not notice the time, the hunters had already returned and night had fallen. Suddenly the village erupted in clapping and joyful cries, I was caught off guard by the celebration. Pushing through the crowd I saw what had happened, they had not only hunted small animals but among their kills was a mammoth. A mammoth, an enormous beast, separated from its herd, they had seized the chance and brought it down. My hunters had achieved something tremendous, powerful and courageous. Watching them I felt pride swell within me.
Cycnopy came to me, breathing heavily, his eyes glowing with excitement. "Chief Ragno, thanks to you we no longer need to return to the village after every hunt. With the thing you call a cart, we hunted for hours and did not tire at all. We are forever grateful to you!" he began, then continued with pride, "We caught giant birds, rabbits, boars, and most importantly the mammoth. It was weary and separated from its herd. We waited for our moment and brought it down, Chief!" His words filled me with an indescribable pride. Sharing this day with my people meant the responsibility of leadership was bearing fruit.
"Thank you all for what you have done," I declared in a loud voice. "This clan will continue to grow as long as you stand strong. And now I ask one more thing: make me a new cloak, one that is both magnificent and light." I then called my war chief aside, away from the crowd, because I needed to give him special instructions, to clarify who would do what. "Listen, Cycnopy," I said, "I trust you. Tomorrow when the neighboring tribe comes to visit, I do not want trouble. But I will give you a different task. You will not sit with us outside my tent, you will not eat with us, you will not be with the women. Your task will be to watch from a distance, always alert for threats, protecting our village and protecting us. Take two warriors with you and do not fail me. Afterward, you three will enjoy the feast." He looked at me with determination, answering firmly, "Your command is my law. I would give my life for you, Chief Ragno. You can trust me." With that he turned and went to prepare.
The night had advanced, it was late, and I needed rest. Tomorrow would be a long day. Before returning to my tent I freshened the bison's food, adding some grass but more meat, bloody, raw meat, to strengthen its instincts yet tie its hunger to my hand. I left my cloak, the one I had worn since the first day, inside the cage so that it would grow used to my scent. It had to live with my smell, recognize it as its own. I whistled once more, the tone soft but distinct, a signal meant to forge a bond between my call and its response. Then I entered my tent and lay down. As I closed my eyes the last thought in my mind was the weight of leadership and the burden I carried.
Tomorrow would open a new chapter, stronger defenses for my people, an alliance with other tribes, and perhaps the day when I would climb onto the back of my bison and earn a new title, one remembered in stories and strength. Sleep pressed down heavily, but inside me the spark did not fade, it only grew brighter, burning with determination.