It had finally happened. No, the Thunka Grunka Clan was not about to finally get rid of that walking meat stick, the shaman Weasel-Scratch-Face Brother. It was not nearly such good news.
His ex-mate, Onga, had finally got on the shaman’s nerves.
Onga had left Thag for the shaman nearly a season ago, and in a strange way, they had been good times for Thag. He’d become the leader of the hunters. He’d discovered art — in the form of cave painting — and this artistic flowering had garnered him even more respect. (And nookie.)
But now the shaman was demanding that Thag take Onga back. This was a problematic request. First of all, Onga was pretty sure that she didn’t want Thag back. (She had, after all, left Thag of her own accord, even after he did everything he could to make her happy.) Secondly, Thag was absolutely sure that he didn’t want Onga back, even if he had to admit that his dalliances with some of the eligible women of the tribe were not as sexually satisfying as his long-term relationship with Onga.
A further complication was that in the summer the Thunka Grunka Clan were going to the Gathering, a conclave of clans that only happened once every few years. This was an excellent time to procure a new mate, or if nothing else, really party down.
On the other hand, Onga’s father, Bushenior, was one of the Elders, and he carried a lot of sway with the tribe. Things might get uncomfortable if the Elder decided to take a stand against Thag. There was already talk that he’d have the hunters accept his son Dubyag as the new leader of the hunters. This would be a disaster, as Dubyag was a cretin even before he got kicked in the head by a wooly rhino. So, there was the other hunters to consider — would he consign them to poor leadership, injury and possibly death, just because he didn’t want Onga back?
It made Thag’s head hurt, and there was no easy way to make the decision. Even his art was suffering, he noted, as the horse he was trying to draw ended up having five legs.
He would sleep on it. Ever since he was little, he always made better decisions after a good night’s sleep.
But first, perhaps that nubile Blodja would like to go for another “walk” in the forest.
The natural world was not a mystery — when it rained, they got wet. If they were in the mountains, rain was dangerous because it would swell the streams, making them difficult or impossible to cross. Rain made hunting more difficult, as it tamped down the signs of prey.
If he were honest, Thag would say that his affair with the nubile Vunga, the half-daughter of the shaman, could not last forever.
Ever since he’d started making the cave paintings, Thag had noticed that the women in the Thunka Grunka clan had been looking at him differently.
Every morning before they started the hunt, Thag would sit down away from the others, close his eyes, and listen to the wind. It was more than that, but that is what he told the other hunters. Really what he did was sit, and let his mind go blank.
Thag whistled while he packed for the next trip. He liked to organize short hunting expeditions for a certain week of the month — even if there was little chance of finding game — as it was a good idea to be away from the women-folk of the Thunka Grunka Clan during this specific week.