Tales of The Primordial Dawn

Kneeling in the shelter of a thicket, I looked down at Rolo, who crouched beside me. My little boy, just five years old, had my freckles scattered across his nose but had inherited his mother's captivating green eyes. The miniature bow in his hand was a near-perfect replica of my own, crafted specially for him.

It was a little early for him, but today he would take his first steps into becoming a hunter. Mines happened when I was years older than him, but those times were different then. Hunting for food was not something we had to do, but was more in line with a ritual, a sacred passing for our young. The few that did go out hunting were those who specialized in it, and they were much older than Rolo.

"See that deer over there, Rolo?" I whispered, pointing through the branches at a graceful animal grazing in the clearing ahead. "That's our target for today."

He nodded, eyes widening with a mix of excitement and concentration. I felt a swell of pride, the same emotion tinged with a bit of nostalgia. I chased a boar, with a wooden spear and missed. My first hunting experience did not go as I expected but there was still a lot I had learned.

"Now, remember what I told you," I said softly, leaning closer to him. "Control your breath, focus on the target, and visualize the arrow hitting it before you even release the string."

Rolo nodded, his little chest rising and falling as he took deliberate breaths. I watched as he slowly raised the bow, his tiny hands surprisingly steady. My heart seemed to beat in time with his breathing—each inhale a moment of anticipation, each exhale a step closer to the arrow's release.

He took aim, his gaze narrowing as he pulled the string back. Time seemed to slow down. For a split second, my mind was awash with memories of my past life—a world brimming with technology and wonders far beyond the copper tools and simple mechanics we have now.

The deer was a young buck, its antlers just beginning to branch. It had a coat of dappled brown that melted seamlessly into the surroundings, almost as if the forest itself had granted it camouflage. It grazed peacefully, unaware of the eyes fixed on it from the thicket.

Around us, the forest was a almosg silent. Towering trees rose toward the heavens, their leaves a mixture of greens, golds, and browns. The foliage below was thick but not difficult to move through. Birds offered songs from above, while the chittering of smaller creatures sounded like whispers in the undergrowth.

When Rolo's arrow took flight, cutting through the air, it was as if the forest held its breath. The small projectile struck the buck, not a perfect heart or lung shot but enough to wound, embedding itself in the animal's flank. With a startled cry, the deer bolted, its hooves pounding against the forest floor like rapid drumbeats.

The other members of its herd, alerted by the buck's sudden movement and cry of distress, took off in an explosion of motion, their white tails flashing like warning signals as they leapt through the underbrush and disappeared deeper into the woods.

My heart sank as the wounded buck followed its herd, limping but still managing to put distance between us. A trail of dark red blood splattered on the foliage marked its path.

I quickly judged the distance and took aim with my own bow, but the buck moved behind a tree out of my sight. Too slow, I was too slow to react.

"Come on, Rolo," I said, my voice tinged with urgency. "We have to follow it. It's wounded, and we can't let it suffer."

Rolo's eyes met mine, and he nodded. I wonder if he understood what it meant to hold a bow and arrow. Did he know the meaning of taking a life? These were things I wanted to teach him. That all life was sacred and killing animals should only be done when needed. 

We moved swiftly but carefully through the forest, following the sanguine trail that led us deeper into the embrace of the trees. Every crimson droplet on the leaves seemed to underscore the gravity of the moment, a lesson written in lifeblood.

Finally, we found the young buck, its sides heaving, eyes clouded with pain and fear. "Remeber this Rolo, all life is sacred. This deer gives us its life so we can live on. Be thankful, and don't take more than what's needed."

I drew my own bow, aiming for a swift, merciful end to the creature's suffering. The arrow flew true, finding its mark in the deer's heart. With a final exhale, the buck collapsed, its life extinguished.

"We thank you for your life," I whispered, a customary prayer to honor the fallen animal, as Rolo looked on with wide, solemn eyes.

He mimicked my motions also offering a prayer to the fallen.

The forest around us seemed to sigh, a quiet acceptance of the life-and-death drama that had just unfolded within its depths. And as I began to field-dress the buck, with Rolo watching intently, learning yet another of the countless skills he'd need in the years to come. 

The weight of the copper knife felt balanced and reassuring in my palm as I made the first incisions. Copper has been a huge step for us in crafting tools and weapons of all kinds. Since I stumbled upon it many winters ago we've constantly used it to better our lives. "Here, Rolo," I said, handing him the blade hilt-first. "It's time you learn."

Rolo's eyes, so like my own, widened momentarily before his young hands carefully grasped the knife. "Like this, Father?" he asked, holding it cautiously.

"Ah, no. Not quite," I gently corrected, positioning his fingers for a firmer grip. "You want to hold it like you're shaking hands with it. Firm, but not suffocating."

Rolo nodded, readjusting his grip. The new weight in his hand seemed to stir something within him—a dawning realization of his growing role in our community.

"Good," I praised, "now, make a cut here, just below the sternum. But be careful. You don't want to puncture the gut."

The copper blade gleamed with an ethereal light as it cut through the buck's fur and skin. It was a delicate moment; a subtle threshold between failure and a lesson learned. My son's hand shook, but the blade stayed true. The animal's skin parted like the water of a creek, revealing the world within.

"Excellent," I breathed, my eyes meeting his. In them, I saw a burgeoning sense of accomplishment. "Now, see how I pull the skin back? You'll want to do the same on the other side."

Rolo mimicked my motions with an eager, if unrefined, finesse. It was far from perfect, but each tug and cut spoke of raw potential, a malleable skill set waiting to be honed.

As we wrapped the meat in large leaves for the journey back, Rolo finally broke the silence. "Will I be as good as you one day, Father?"

His question struck a chord deep within me. There was a vulnerability in those words, a flickering candle in the caverns of youthful insecurity. "You won't be as good as me," I said, looking him square in the eyes. "You'll be better. Just as copper surpasses stone, so too will the next generation surpass the last. It's the natural order of things."

Hoisting the deer onto my shoulder with practiced ease, I stood up, feeling the weight of the animal. Hopefully he would learn something from this that would stick with him. It pained me a bit that I never got this chance with my own father. But also filled me with a joy I haven't experienced before, maybe joy was not the right word here. Pride? Happiness? I don't know, but watching Rolo was like observing a miniature version of myself.

"Dad, will you tell me about what happened after you got attacked?" Rolo's voice broke the silence, full of the ceaseless curiosity of youth.

I looked down at him, his green eyes earnest. "Another time, Rolo," I promised, "Right now, let's get this deer back."

We emerged from the forest's shadowy embrace into the bright sunlight of an open field. The grass beneath our feet was a rich green and gold, each blade glowing like a small sun in the light of the actual sun now lowering towards the horizon. 

As we approached the outskirts of our village, a towering wall of clay bricks came into view. These weren't the bricks we used for our homes; these were twice as large and formed an imposing, eight-foot-high barrier. The technology of the gate fascinated me every time I saw it—ingeniously designed, it slid open and closed through a wooden pulley system. Ropes, crafted from durable plant fibers we'd discovered in our surroundings, threaded through the pulleys, allowing for easy operation. 

The gate creaked open as we approached, moved by strong hands working the pulley system. I nodded my thanks to the gatekeepers and walked through, my son at my heels. 

Once inside, it struck me anew how much we'd grown. We were no longer just a small tribe but a burgeoning village. People moved purposefully along the pathways, pushing wheelbarrows crafted from sturdy wood and filled with various materials—food, clay, copper tools, and more. The wheelbarrows, another innovation, had proven incredibly useful for transportation within the village. Although still lacking in my eyes. There had to be a way to move around easier and faster, but so far I've yet to come across or hear about any horses.

A gaggle of children was playing in an open area, their laughter a light, happy counterpoint to the industrious atmosphere. As Rolo and I passed by, one of the boys caught sight of us and waved excitedly.

"Rolo, come play!" the boy shouted, his face alight with the simple joys of childhood.

Rolo looked up at me, his eyes questioning. I smiled.

"Go on," I encouraged him. "Have fun."

As Rolo scampered off to join his friends, I stood there for a moment, watching him go. His laughter, mixing with the laughter of the other children, echoed in my ears and filled my heart with a simple, profound gratitude.

Moving on, I headed further into the village until I approached a clay building. A sign made of clay hung over the entrance with a picture of a knife. Many of our tribesmen could not read letters, but they understood some simple symbols. This was one of them, a knife that told them this was where our kills would be taken to be sliced into smaller portions. Some of it to be smoked and preserved for a later time, while the rest would be cooked and served alongside any fruits and vegetables we've grown. Spices still eluded me even after all this time, but it was only a matter of when. Eventually our food would transform in taste, but this was still fine as it was.

Outside the building I found a wooden table that was empty. The table was also new and wooden ones only recently started appearing. We were masters of clay sculpting so it was easier to create chairs, tables, pots, pans and other miscellaneous items out of clay. However, wood offered a more solid foundation and could be used in creating a lot more items.

With the deer laid down on the wooden table, I approached the door to the building, the scent of freshly butchered meat and animal pelts mingling in the air. Three swift knocks and a call for "Junta" brought the man himself to the door.

Junta emerged, a large figure dressed in fur clothing that gave him an even more imposing appearance. His hands were stained with blood, matching the splotches on his clothing. The sight might have been unsettling if not for the warm glint in his eyes.

"Another deer, Tak?" he greeted, taking a quick glance at my catch.

"That's right. How many more are you expecting from me?" I chuckled.

Junta laughed back, his eyes drifting towards the direction Rolo had run off to play. "Did Rolo hunt this one?"

"Almost," I admitted, my chest swelling with a father's pride. "He's getting there."

"Good on the boy," Junta remarked, his tone slightly admonishing, "but he's still too young. He'd slow down the other hunting teams."

I nodded. "True, but it's never too early to start training. He'll join the others at school soon. His mother wants him to pick up some practical skills first."

Junta chuckled. "Ah, the perks of being a chieftain, eh?"

"It has its moments," I agreed, though the weight of my responsibilities lingered at the back of my mind. "Speaking of which, there's a meeting later, and I'd like for you to be there."

Junta nodded, wiping his hands on a cloth as he stepped back into the building. "I'll be there, Tak. And thanks for the deer."

I returned the nod, the unspoken acknowledgment of mutual respect hanging in the air between us. "See you at the meeting then."

With that, Junta disappeared back into the building, and I turned to go, thoughts of the upcoming gathering and the challenges that lay ahead filling my mind.

As I made my way through the bustling village, my thoughts were interrupted by the familiar voice of Enara. She stepped into my path and gave a slight bow, her raven-black hair shimmering in the sunlight.

"You don't have to do that, you know," I said, scratching the back of my head, a bit uncomfortable with the formalities.

"Force of habit," she smiled. "Ten more newcomers arrived today, and Mako will be here tomorrow."

I raised an eyebrow. "Do we know where these people came from?"

"Across the river, definitely. Their origins are harder to pinpoint."

I nodded, my mind racing through the logistics. "Find them some space in the village but keep an eye on them, just to be safe."

"Do you expect more?" she queried, catching the concern in my tone.

"I honestly don't know," I sighed. "They've been coming here often lately."

"Perhaps we should hold off on accepting more until we can better accommodate those already here," Enara suggested.

"I would like that, yes. But we need all the hands we can get for the fields."

Enara gave a nod of understanding. "We already have many on that job."

"There's no such thing as too much food," I grinned. "How's the wall construction coming along?"

"We're almost to the river. Not much left now," she reported.

"Good. We'll need to build a bridge eventually," I muttered, more to myself than to her.

"What was that?" Enara asked, not quite catching my words.

"Nevermind. What about Mako? Anything new from his end?" I redirected.

"He's arriving for the meeting tomorrow. A lot to discuss, but he seemed particularly interested in the road you mentioned last time."

"Has anything changed over there, as far as you know?"

"Nothing that I'm aware of," she said, her azure eyes thoughtful.

I nodded, my mind already turning to the impending meeting. "Alright, thanks, Enara. Keep me updated."

"Of course, Tak," she said, offering another bow as she moved away.

As I approached my home, a sense of pride welled up within me. We'd come a long way from the makeshift huts of sticks and animal skins. Through trial and error, mostly due to our lack of experience in construction, we'd evolved our architectural practices. Now, our home was a mixture of fired clay bricks and logs, standing tall and firm.

The house consisted of two floors, the first one housing the main living quarters and the second for storage of our personal belongings. I stepped onto the porch, my eyes falling on the clay stove we'd built for cooking. It was a round, closed structure with a removable piece of clay on top where we could place pots. 

Pushing open the door, the first sight that greeted me was Silma, cradling our youngest, Victa, while breastfeeding. My heart swelled at the vision of them; it had been seven winters since Silma and I had first crossed paths. She'd lost none of her beauty; in fact, she'd only grown more stunning with the passing years.

Silma looked up, her azure eyes meeting mine, and she graced me with that captivating smile that had first caught my eye all those years ago. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had led her own tribe, the Mayitans, and had been forced into exile. And yet here she was, the mother of two of my children. 

Our gaze locked for a moment, full of shared history and mutual understanding. I thought about how much we had both grown, how our roles had shifted and expanded. She was so much more than the young chieftess I'd met all those years ago. Silma had taken to her new life with grace, embracing the education I could offer in reading, writing, and arithmetic. 

"How was your hunt?" Silma asked.

"Rolo did well today," I began, recounting the day's hunt to Silma as I settled into a wooden chair next to her. "He took his first shot at a deer. It was almost a clean hit."

Her eyes lit up. "That's wonderful to hear. He's growing up so fast, learning quickly."

"I agree. And how are you?" I glanced at her, concern in my eyes. "I know Victa has been hard to deal with."

She shook her head with a gentle smile. "I'm doing fine, Tak. Really. Don't worry about me. We can have as many children as we want."

I chuckled, "Maybe, but we don't have to rush it." Honestly with the ones I had already it felt like this was more than enough. But as chieftain I had to do my part and keep our population up. Although that part might just be me talking.

"More children now means more hands to help in the future," she pointed out, her eyes twinkling with a vision of a bustling, expanded family.

I nodded in agreement, then shifted the topic. "Where's Liora?"

Silma's gaze moved towards the door for a moment. "She went out with Maeve, something to do with the fields."

A hint of worry crossed my face. "Is everything alright? I've been concerned about the recent weather—too hot, and not enough rain."

She sighed. "Yes, the heat has been harsh. But Maeve is with her; they'll manage."

"I wish she'd take it easy, especially now that she's with child," I said, my worry evident.

Silma chuckled, her eyes filled with understanding. "You know Liora, she's never been one to sit around, not even now."

"True," I agreed, though a part of me still felt unsettled. Liora's spirit was one of the things I loved about her, but times like these also made me worry.

Silma seemed to read my thoughts. "She'll be fine, Tak. And if you're too worried, you can always go and check on her yourself."

I nodded, considering her words. 

"Where's Serith?" I inquired, realizing our daughter was not in her usual spots around the house.

Silma smiled warmly, "Zulu took her to the animal pen. You know how much she loves those creatures."

I chuckled, remembering. "Ah, yes. The first animal pen we ever built was like a wonderland for Zulu and Maeve. They couldn't get enough of it."

As the memory flashed, my hand instinctively went to my left leg, touching the old scar there. Silma's eyes followed my hand, her gaze softening.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked, concern lacing her voice.

"Not so much these days," I answered. "Rolo was asking me about it today, actually."

"That boy is curious, isn't he?" Silma mused.

I smiled, nodding. "He reminds me so much of Maeve when she was younger—always wanting to know the why and how of everything."

"You should finish that story for them, the one about how you got that scar." Silma encouraged.

I laughed softly, "Maybe. Though, only Rolo seems truly interested. Serith just lights up at the parts involving animals."

"Still, it's a part of our history, our journey," Silma pointed out. "And maybe one day, they'll tell it to their children too."

It was a comforting thought, that our stories and experiences would ripple through time, shaping the tales told around firesides for generations to come. "You're right," I agreed, "perhaps it's time to add another chapter."