Thag was worried about the morale of the other hunters in the Thunka Grunka tribe.
As their leader, it was his responsibility to ensure they worked together well, and it looked as though he had misjudged things.
One of their youngest hunters, Donjuag, had been putting the moves on the mate of Thag’s second-in-command, the spike-haired Fonzag. Thag couldn’t really blame Donjuag for being attracted to the voluptuous and sensual Vunga, and he couldn’t really fault Fonzag for feeling a little jealous.
Donjuag and Vunga were much closer in age, but Thag had said it was all just youthful high spirits, and that Fonzag shouldn’t be worried about it: “Them not serious, Fonzag. Not worry you.”
And then Fonzag had caught Donjuag and Vunga making “lip smackies”, and the proverbial mammoth dung soiled the water hole.
Fonzag head-butted Donjuag, which was actually quite dangerous given Fonzag’s brutally spiked hair. Several other tribe members intervened before he could deliver a second blow.
“Heyyyy!” Fonzag cried. “I got a right to keep him away from my lady!”
“You not kill Donjuag!” Thag explained. “It uncool.”
“Heyyy,” Fonzag said contritely.
Vunga, who had the hips that launched the thousand facile thoughts in Donjuag, said: “it didn’t mean anything Fonzag. I was only kidding.”
Her kidding self, Thag thought, but he didn’t voice it.
“Really babe?” Fonzag asked.
“Of course, hon,” Vunga reassured her mate.
Fonzag looked at her, and gave her a kiss. “I believe you babe.”
Him kidding self, Thag thought, but he didn’t say anything.
Luckily, Donjuag was unconscious, so he didn’t hear any of this, but Thag knew they would have to come up with some kind of solution. He watched Fonzag and Vunga work on fixing Fonzag’s now badly bent hair spikes.
“Love triangle bad for Thunka Grunka,” Thag said to the shaman, Weasel-Scratch-Face-Brother.
“Oh, it’s okay,” the shaman said, “it’s sorted out now. The Gods have decreed it.”
“Foreskin-Face-Brother is fooling himself,” Thag told the shaman. “But not Thag.”