“You’all been a piece-a-shit since the caveman days, Jack, ever since some smarter asshole came by with a sharper stick—and look at you now, out on your dumbass again and me with you!”

-East Baltimore Skank screaming at Crackhead Mate, Stemmers Run and Eastern Avenue

The cold lonely sky roared its displeasure above and snow poured off of his hairy thighs as he hauled the auroch haunch through the deep drifts of the valley. Brule was waiting in the Y of the small nut tree for his return. They had started the winter with only three hunters. Now they were two, and Brule had lost his strong foot fighting the auroch. He pushed all thoughts of fatigue from his mind and trudged on, the weight of the Clan’s survival literally riding on his broad shoulders.

There was no time to waste. Jackal, so-named because he had been the smallest and most energetic of his age group, had to push right up the valley instead of skulking in the trees, heedless of danger, if he was going to return before the killing cold of night took Brule away to dreamtime forever. He would then carry Brule back to the cave that was their home, where Jill, Acorn-lips and the children awaited with Old Man. This haunch would feed them through the long winter nights.

Finally, there it was, up on the rise above the trees that sprouted from the valley floor, the home of the clan, the sacred resting place of their hallowed ancestors, the place First Man had taken from the cave bear, and bequeathed to all his hunter sons down through the many long winters of life.

Jackal picked up his pace, hefting his spear in his weak hand as he steadied the man-sized auroch haunch on his back with his strong arm.

His thoughts raced—well, jogged—Jill will be so glad to see me, I know it. I shall stroke the soft fur on her broad back a few times before heading back for Brule—he will understand.

Up through the trees he hurried, savoring the scent of wood smoke, to which would soon be added the scent of meat!

Where was Jill?

If the Old Man lived he was there, for he could not move. Running now with the weight of a man on his shoulders Jackal made it up to the cave mouth, dropped the haunch and looked in to see Old Man hunched in his withered way by the fire.

“Where they?

Wolves come?"

Old Man shook his head sorrowfully and mumbled over his empty gums, “Tall ones, skinny, flying spears, take them.”

Jackal wanted to run these skinny enemies down, to kill them in the night and take their women and children back. But he must retrieve Brule, so off he went, shambling along through his back trail, even snarling at a lion that barred his way, the cat shrinking back from his heavy spear of hate.

Jackal made his way through the thick snow-choked forest the day after the slaying of the auroch that took Brule’s foot. The tracks were easy to follow, as there were six adult males with narrow feet and long legs, skinny fellows he could easily smash in a fight. He would smash their skulls and break their feet!

No, he would break their feet and then smash their skulls! That would be the way!

As it neared sunfall, Jackal broke through the woods at the base of the Wind-bottom Creek and was startled by what he saw. Along the stream was arrayed a handful—a full handful as he counted on his strong hand that was not missing the thumb—of, of caves? They were made of skins but shaped like the inside of a cave, with a cave mouth of their own which a person could crawl through. And so many narrow, elongated people were crawling through these mammoth-hide cave mouths from within their mammoth hide caves!

He saw Jill their holding two of the children, wearing some tight fitting inside-out hide with no hair on it. Why, her new attire was unseemly! She looked like some fresh woman in season!

He hefted his spear in anger and began to stalk toward his woman to reclaim her, and then a handful of long slender spears darted into the snowpack around him, thrown by the tall, flat-faced twig men that stood way far back—too far to snatch and smash and break!

Jackal roared ferociously. He had grown from a jackal of a boy to a lion of a man, and it was too late. His people were gone, just lame Brule and withered Old Man back in the cave. As his angry roar faded away Jill came closer, standing under the protection of some big tall twig of a flat-faced man, and shouted, “Go away, Jack!”

“No, come to cave!”

“Jack,” and she motioned to the hide caves, “we have caves any place—pretty place, many place. Go, Jack.”

She looked meaningfully at the tall skinny stranger men as they took more flying spears to hand, and shouted, “Please, Jack, go!”

“I bring big auroch meat!”

“I eat much mammoth meat! Go, Jack!”

The men looked at him menacingly and he knew he must leave or die, and if he died who would feed Old Man and Brule?

Jackal walked off into the snow-choked woods as night fell, fell over the world as over his heart.

The next morning, after fighting his way through a hyena ambush and shoving his spear up a wolf’s ass for sniffing him while he napped under a needle tree, Jackal made it back to the cave, where Old Man and Brule sat at the mouth, eating auroch steaks.

Brule spoke up, “Where women, children?”

Jackal snarled, “New men, narrow, elongated men, mammoth-eating men, cave-making men!”

Brule moaned in despair.

Old Man, though, had words of wisdom, “They Big Wanker Clan—took my woman. Why I come up to winter lands. Happen to us all in time.”

Brule then grew less glum and suggested, “Hyenas, lions, fight, down by bone pit. Go watch?”

Jackal looked at Old Man, who answered, “Two spear points to one on lions.”

Brule looked at him and accepted his wager with a laugh as Jackal lifted Old Man on his shoulders, “Hyenas rule, Old Man. Start make that spear point now!”

And they were off to watch the fights, the last of the Snow Clan, from their cave for men that stays in the same place.