In the Season Thereof

Silence filled the air as the embers of our fire faded. Fatigue born of a long walk across miles of ice finally extinguished the last of our adrenaline rush. We both needed rest if we were going to repeat the trip in the morning. We retired to our beds lacking a clear strategy for getting our companions to join us. Too exhausted to formulate yet another plan, we would wing it and hope for the best. Sometime later, I became aware of something, something big, moving outside our brush hut. At first, I thought it was Brutus, or Caesar. But they had bedded down near the lake some time ago and seemed done for the day. No, it wasn’t the mammoths, I was sure. Perhaps a snap of a twig had been enough to interrupt my sleep? I couldn’t remember, but I felt something—something strangely familiar. I whispered to Scott. He was awake, and felt it too. Surprisingly, we seemed to be the only ones. Toko was usually a light sleeper, but a regular low purr on the other side of the hut told me he was unaware of our visitor, at least not yet. We considered waking the others but decided against it. We certainly didn’t want to risk complicating the situation with cries from a confused infant. Time stood still. I thought of our limited arsenal: the compound bow with a mix of arrows, some factory-made, others made by Toko and Scott, atlatl and five spears, steel-bladed knife, hatchet, and a handful of stone tools. If our visitor —or visitors —were prehistoric predators looking for an easy meal, we would be hard pressed to put up much of a fight—especially in the dark. Fire was our best defense, but unfortunately, the campfire was outside and we had allowed it to dwindle to the point that it would not be a factor. I became aware of rapid breathing—it was me. The memory of the putrid, face-to-face blast from the nostrils of the unseen beast that first introduced me to this prehistoric world crowded out all rational thought replacing it with a vision of a sabertooth feasting upon a still twitching mountain sheep two days later. I have often wondered if the two could have been one and the same. Scott had his own close calls with a Smilodon—perhaps the same one I had met—including a night visit outside his tent. Could this be some kind of sequel? Of course, that was it! Scott had also been drying meat. The smell was an open invitation to any flesh-loving beast. I hoped that the meat we left on the rack outside would be a sufficient offering to satiate the beast and distract it from investigating the entrance to our hut. Morning would tell, if we made it that far. And then there were the mammoths; would they be in danger if the beast decided it preferred its meal fresh? Where was Elijah? Shouldn’t he be sounding the alarm, or perhaps providing some kind of distraction? For a moment, I forgot that he was wolf, not dog—and that there is a difference. Toko was the first out; this was according to routine. His agitation on his return, was not. We all watched as he retraced in the twilight multiple sets of tracks all around camp. Most unnerving was the worn path circling our hut. We followed the tracks back to where they approached camp from the southwest; the direction in which Toko had made his kill the day before. There were a single set of large prints and two smaller sets—a lioness with her cubs. Chunks of meat waiting to be cut into strips for drying were gone, pine-branch coverings tossed to the side. However, the half-dried meat still hanging over the warm ashes of our fire was untouched, as was what was left of our stored supply. But why? The meat taken couldn’t possibly have been enough to satisfy three hungry beasts. After inspecting the remainder of our belongings, Toko and Scott sat and talked. Toko started. Loosely interpreted it went something like this. “Mountain cat take meat to feed family. Leave drying meat as peace gift. Now that is an interesting interpretation of the evidence, I thought. “She-cat need much food to feed family. She-cat leave warning.” He pointed at the tracks circling the hut. “She-cat say we must leave, no hunt here no more. Mentally, Scott was already moving past our close encounter of the night; assessing a way to resolve our predicament of being stuck in this camp. Watching Toko from the corner of his eye, he spoke and signed in a way that he knew Toko would understand. “Mountain cat is a friend. Her spirit visit Scott during sleep last night. Eagle has told her that great herds roam land on far side of ice.” He paused, arm pointed in the direction that he and I had walked the day before. “Eagle say that the sun will soon wake Mother Water from winter sleep. Ice will be all gone. Mountain cat share this secret with her human friends, because we shared meat with her family. We should go today. I held my breath. Would Toko take the bait, the bait to a trap that he himself helped to set? For a moment he looked undecided. Eenatoo took a long look at our tracks on the crusted snow and then smiled at Toko as Iumbye continued taking her breakfast unaffected. Hadoo’s mouth formed a knowing smile as her gaze remained fixed on Scott. Did she suspect that Scott was making the vision stuff up? And what had she made of the ever-shifting mantle of leadership between her brother and Scott? The silence was broken by the echo of Jacob's morning crackle as he approached camp from a morning flight. No one missed the fact that his approach was from the east.