If he were honest, Thag would say that his affair with the nubile Vunga, the half-daughter of the shaman, could not last forever.
Not only was she was at least ten years younger, but eventually the Thunka Grunka clan would demand that he and Onga — his actual mate — start warming sleeping furs together lest the delicate sexual balance of the cave be upset.
He did NOT anticipate that the clan would adopt a knew beau for Vunga, but then again, her half-father, that foreskin with a forehead, Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother was in a position to smooth the way for a new hunter to join the clan, and he did.
Not that Thag was upset with Fonzag himself. Though he was quite short, he was a competent hunter; the rest of the hunting party got along with him too, though he occasionally worried them with the way he would celebrate a hunting victory, by turning his thumbs upward and issuing his trademark cry: “heyyyyyy!” And apart from this quirk, Fonzag’s only other failing (as far as Thag could tell) was an affectation he had with his hair, which he wore in a strange fashion.
The diminutive Fonzag liked to shave the sides of his head, and he made the remaining hair stick up like the spikes of a porcupine by using some kind of noxious combination of tree resin and animal fat. After a few hours in the sun, it gave off quite the stench, but so far it hadn’t scared off any prey.
On the contrary, it had captured the delectable, if fickle, attentions of Vunga, who had been sharing slappies with Thag because she enjoyed his cave art. But no more, now that she had Fonzag’s bristly locks to capture her attention.
Briefly, Thag thought about styling his hair the same way, but then he noticed the wayward look in Blodja’s eye. It seemed that she too was an “admirer” of cave art.
The fact that she was Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother’s younger sister had no impact on Thag asking her for a “walk” in the woods to discuss his work. Oh no, none at all.