Birth of the Chosen One by Roger Kenworthy

Author:Roger Kenworthy [Kenworthy, Roger]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781729211359
Published: 2019-12-05T05:00:00+00:00

4

Our home was set high on a steep slope, roughly as tall as four hunters, above a flat strip of land that often saw beasts, large and small use as a pathway to the gently rolling lands of thick grasses. There were irregularly shaped boulders that formed a natural pathway, just wide enough for a single hunter, to walk up to our home one at a time. While it took extra effort and time for a number of us to leave or enter our cave, nevertheless, it was a site provided to us by the spirits. Our ancestors were advised by the land spirits to choose this site and for good reason; any enemy that entered our lands could easily be seen as they approached our cave.

At one time, many low bushes grew around our home, but over the many seasons we lived here, we cut them all down, used them to cook our meals, and to keep us warm at night. With them all gone, we had a clear view to our right and to our left. It was doubtful that an enemy could plan an attack of our lands without being seen, at least during the time the sun shone down upon us. At night…the evil spirits roamed the lands looking for souls to take; most hunters stayed warm in their caves; they didn’t want to arouse the ire of the wise ones.

Below the cave there was a wide corridor, roughly ten spears wide, that served as a migratory pathway for reindeer, bison, mammoth, and woolly rhinoceros. We knew that the season had changed because a cloud of dust would proceed the beasts on their journey. The yellow rays of the sun were blocked out as they approached. The ground trembled and warned us to be ready with our spears in hand. Food arrived. Act quickly and survive; hesitate and starve.

In the past, dense herds of beasts rolled past our cave like the waves of the river. I used to look at one spot, twice as high as my arm could reach, where the beasts rubbed against the rocks and left them smooth as a scrapper mother used to cut up a beast. When I grew, and became taller, I would often go to that spot, rub it with my hand, and ask the land spirits to help me find and kill a beast for our family to feed on.

But now, there were few. When I was young, it was a joyous time; our clan would be fed for days with little effort. The hunters hid behind the rocks high above the streams of animals meandering slowly past them. Their sharp spears thrown into the body of the herd, death was everywhere; blood turned the emerald grasses crimson red. As I look out on the grass that would be trampled flat by the long lines of animals making their way to the grasslands next to our cave, it is untouched, only small areas trodden down. I felt sorrow and believed that the spirits laughed at our plight as we grew hungry, skinny.

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