c.23,000 BP
Spring has once again arrived and across the icy
taiga the hunters have spread, emerging from their winter caves to flex cramped muscles and taste fresh meat. Wide they have roamed these last ten days, even as the snow lingers, through forests shooting green and along springs tinkling with melting ice. A hunting party led by Bark-tearer had now been absent for several nights, tracking a herd of Aurochs across the hills, towards where-the-sun-sets.
As spring rolls across the taiga, animals emerge from their winter feeding grounds...
Back at the camp last night, the age-worn shaman
Speaks-with-Bear had a vision of a rock pile in the trees, surrounded by an iced river, wherein a wolf-mother has borne a litter of cubs. Tribe leader Longhorn mused upon this revelation for many hours, staring into the fire. Once or twice he was seen to glance onto the smoke-stained roof of the cave, remembering the half-obscured images of wolves running alongside men in the great Mammoth hunt. He took the shaman aside and they held a whispered conversation. More hours passed and the fire burned low.
Not long before the tribe members wandered from the cave entrance back into the security of stone-shrouded darkness, and rolled into their bear-skins, Longhorn called together the hunters. Around his hearth knelt Wolfpelt, Tusk, and Uhgg. As the flames flickered light upon the daubed images on the ceiling, and the wind moaned past the cave entrance, they heard of a daring and dangerous plan - one that could end in bloody death or a triumph that would see the tribe’s hunting capacity soar.
The next morning they set out to the place described by the shaman - for it was well-known as the den of a pack which often lurked at the fringes of the hunt.
Spreading out they approached from four directions, now keeping low, now loping close under the boles of snow-laded fir trees. The rocks, black and slick with rime, stood out among the trees. Wolves could be seen in the snow, jumping and snapping at one another, rolling and springing up. They were revelling in the new-found sun, not so unlike the humans. Nearby, and apparently oblivious, woolly rhino grazed, largely indifferent to the hunters and secure in its massive bulk and long dangerous horns.
Slowly the tribesman padded across the snow toward the wolf-den, into the wind, their scent carried away and behind them. Wolfpelt, a middle aged hunter of twenty-two summers, was strong, brave and fleet-footed. He carried heavy club studded with the hind-teeth of the boar. Tusk and Uhgg, younger hunters in their early teens, were both carrying spears. Tusk and Uhgg followed the signals of Longhorn, while Wolfpelt, a loner, looked only to years of experience for direction.
Wolfpelt could not be more brave. Stealing close to the den, he howled long and loud. All the wolves looked up. Nearest him, a wolf bared its teeth and sprang toward him. Still yelling, Wolfpelt sprinted from the den, drawing two wolves away. He ran out onto the ice, skidding and falling. In a moment a heavy male wolf was upon him, and blood spattered the ice. But Wolfpelt was not done: he scrambled to his feet and wielded his club. He swung low, wounding the beast which yelped and backed away. Dodging forward again he smashed the wolf’s front legs, and then landed another fatal blow behind its ears. The bloody fur crumpled into the white snow.
Wolfpelt draws the angry wolves away from the den, and pays with his blood:
Meanwhile Longhorn, summoning the spirits of protection, hefted his club and skulked in close directly into the rock-pile, glancing only briefly to his right where his fellow hunter fought the wolves.
Tusk and Uhgg were closing from his left, crossing the ice. Even as he reached the relative safety of the riverbank, Tusk slipped and called out as his foot sank into the chilled water. A wolf erupted from a snowbank and sank its fangs into his leg. The deer-hide bound around his ankle absorbed most of the force, but a dark stain blossomed beneath.
The young hunter Tusk in his own waltz with wolves...
Totally focussed now on the treasure deep within the rocks, Longhorn entered the den. It was rank with wolf-smells: the mingled fug of warm fur, sour milk, droppings and half-rotten bones a sharp contrast to the crisp air. In the middle of a sheltered nook within the rocks lay a she-wolf, weary and panting on her side. The squeaks and yips from behind her betrayed her litter. Not hesitating, Longhorn skirted the den and reached in underneath her, grabbing two stronger-looking cubs by the scruff, prising them from the teat. The she-wolf barely had the strength to launch a half-hearted snap at his hands.
Longhorn steals the furry treasure from the she-wolf:
In the same movement he was running, ducking through a gap in the opposite side of the rocks, stuffing the cubs into his wolf-skin bag - the thought passing through his mind that perhaps a lingering smell of their own kind would comfort the cubs. Uhgg passed him, heading toward the den himself - Longhorn grinned and gave the hand sign for
“all is well” and
“try your luck….”As Longhorn leaves, Uhgg tries his own luck
Meanwhile on the riverbank Tusk had fought back his attacker, sending it reeling with a sharp stab of his flint-tipped spear. He circled around towards the running figure of Longhorn, as if to cover his retreat.
Elsewhere things were looking grim for Wolfpelt. He ran along, isolated on the far side of the rock pile. At first his strides were long, but the wound inflicted by the now dead pack-leader must have been deeper than he thought, the muscle and sinew of his left leg badly torn. Two wolves spotted his awkward movement, and sniffed his blood on the air. They swerved toward him, closing warily but steadily. One darted in, and was sent backward by a sharp blow from Wolfpelt’s club. Enraged, it bared yellow teeth and leaped in again. The fangs sinking into the hunter’s arm and he overbalanced. The second wolf pounced, sending a shower of snow and snapping at his legs, dragging him facedown into the snow. All went dark for for the brave hunter - even as the wolves howled in triumph, he knew that his long trail had ended and their wild song sang him to the spirits in the stars.
The end of the trail for Wolfpelt
As the howls of the hunting wolves echoed through the gathering gloom, Uhgg bent low and into the cave. For a moment closing his eyes and uttering, he sprang forward and scooped up another cub, gently shoving the she-wolf aside. Pivoting on his heel, he turned, launched himself off the treacherous rocks and ran, following the footprints of Longhorn.
For the price of one of their best, the tribe had a new clutch of young - perhaps one day three more hunters would run beside those on two legs…
The hunters fade into the gloom, the cubs secure
********
Palaeo Diet at
Perth Miniatures Gamers Group with my 14 y.o. son last night. This is the
Dances With Wolves scenario - grabbing wolf-cubs from within a pack. Good fun and though a short game, a nice little story emerged. A change from the beast hunting missions - as pack predators the wolves react aggressively and dangerously.
Hope you enjoy.
Welcome, Guest. Please 
April 29, 2024, 05:26:20 AM
