The Archer

The tribe's elders, each adorned with a ceremonial necklace of clam shells, had gathered in the cave, breathed in the smoke of the weed, and deliberated if young Eagle was ready. His uncle, the old man Eagle, the old man Hawk and the old woman Moon weighed up his strengths and weaknesses. He is fast, he is nimble, he is strong, he is reckless, he is proud, he is aloof, he is solitary. Those assets would not become greater and those flaws would not become less, therefore it was time.

The cave was in a cliff, on a hillside, above a gentle flowing river, a long way from where the river spilled out into the sea.

Every spring the scattered bands of kinsfolk followed the migration of the aurochs from the coastal plains, west between the mountains where, on high, snow and ice reigned, and then north to the summer lands, where they gathered together as a tribe, between the gentle flowing rivers. The rivers ran through gorges whose steep sides were dotted with caves which could be occupied in times of need. But generally they camped among the trees, down by the river, where they could fish and hunt, lay traps, gather wood and harvest all manner of plants and fruits.

These summer lands were also close to the source of the best flint used for making their stone tools. The season was a busy time for knapping the stone blades and spearheads they would carry with them for the rest of the year. Other tools, fashioned from wood and bone, could be made anywhere, but this stone quarry was the best of any they knew.

But, above all else, what drew them back to this valley, year after year, was the cave. This one, singular cavern held special significance to the tribe, it was their spiritual home, a place of ceremony and remembrance. Its unobtrusive entrance, hidden from the valley floor, led by way of a narrow tunnel to a vast underground hall, illuminated only by the flickering animal-fat lamps they carried in.

On the appointed day, in this hall, beneath a wall decorated with images of onrushing aurochs, the elders gathered once more to anoint Eagle with resin oil, to ward off his all too human scent. Then old woman Moon took some powdered ochre and soot, moistened with her spit, and marked the lines of The Hunter on his face. She let her gnarled hands rest for longer than necessary on his handsome features, perhaps wishing she were not quite so old.

Eagle left the cave and returned to camp with the gaze of all the tribe on him, including that of Swan, whose beautiful eyes bewitched every man they rested on, Eagle especially. He had looked ardently into those hazel depths once and had been turned to pulp.

To accompany him on the hunt he could take two aides and as he had grown up with Bear and Wolf they in essence chose themselves. He had fantasised about asking Swan but he did not have the courage for it. As the three of them left the encampment Eagle felt sick to the pit of his stomach because he could not summon up the guts to look at Swan, even though he wanted to with all his heart. He wanted to know that she was looking at him and not at Bear or Wolf.

He walked on resolutely but he was not without doubt, an inner voice questioned if he was ready for this trial and wondered if he had accepted the endorsement of the tribe because of his pride. But there was no turning back now, and moreover if he did not undertake it then Bear or Wolf would kill the bull and gain favour in the eyes of Swan. If he failed this test then Swan would not look upon him, so he might as well fight to the death, the bull's or his.

Barely had they left the camp when Wolf began a voluble stream of praise of Swan's qualities that made Eagle's mood unbearably worse. Eagle had no need of these reminders for he knew every last one of them himself, and thought of them every waking moment. And Wolf's easy confidence and extrovertness contrasted markedly with his own shyness and inability to express himself. When Wolf asked him, Swan is a shooting star? Swan lights up the darkest night? he could only look blankly at him as words got stuck in his head like they had been engulfed in tree resin.

With Eagle striding ahead the three of them made their way down to the river through groves of oak and walnut, and across meadows cleared of trees, cut down to make the tribe's tools, shelters and fires. And Wolf would not stop. Mist on river is Swan hair, soft, gentle.

Eagle signalled for him to be quiet, as there were signs of movement in the bushes flanking the water. This peaceful meadow was a trap. The far side ran up against a rocky cliff where the river undercut it on the outside of a bend. A slope of rough scree, grey angular blocks of limestone, lay against the hill creating a treacherous curtain. With a large team of hunters the escape route back upstream could be covered, but with only the three of them the possibilities were limited. However they only needed to isolate one animal, so the rest of the herd could be left to stampede away.

Whilst in sight of each other the men used hand and head signals to communicate silently, but switched to bird whistles amongst the shrubs and trees. Bear and Wolf took to the flanks. Each man carried a stone-tipped wooden spear and an atlatl carved from antler to launch it further and faster. All the tools were individually honed by their owners and personalised with scratch marks. Flint daggers were also carried in the pockets of their tunics along with a couple of rounds of throwing stones.

They each looked to their feet at every step, placing them silently to avoid any rustle, snap or crunch. Wolf moved away from the river while Bear hugged the shoreline. Eagle aimed for a glade in the trees through which the animals might break.

Suddenly a loud crack came from Eagle's right, the sound of a branch being broken. He turned his head and saw Bear looking at him apologetically with a how did that happen expression on his face. That noise acted as a trigger for more noise, more breaking branches and from the bushes emerged a herd of aurochs. The heads of these cattle were solid, brown with a white muzzle, two horns that curved three ways, outwards, inwards and upwards, high powerful shoulders, with the head held down as if in a permanent charge. Dangerous when provoked but not dangerous enough for Eagle. Their brown hide and stature showed that these were cows but he wanted to take on a bull, larger still, with black hide and twice as deadly.

Eagle signalled to Bear to flush them out. Bear moved forward with large strides, no longer wary, making himself big with his arms held forward. Suddenly he pulled himself higher, head back, and let out a full-throated bear roar. Eagle had to laugh at the swagger of the performance. But it created confusion amongst the aurochs and they broke cover, running chaotically into the open.

Behind this swarm of pounding muscle Eagle sensed a dark shadow emerging from the undergrowth. He signalled to Wolf to guard his flank. Eagle's instinct was to act fast. He raised his spear and ran towards the panicking mob. As he neared them he let out a blood-curdling cry, to provoke himself as much as to impress the animals. His actions had the desired effect and the herd split apart like an axe through a log. And materialising from this breach was a much larger animal, formidably so, with a black pelt, heavy set, eyes small yet piercing. It was the creature he sought.

Confronting Eagle was a tonne of tense, threatening muscle, bone and brawn, glaring at him with a rage red and blazing, horns converging and piercing, nostrils dilated and steaming, black fur barely containing the fury, legs twitching to charge.

Bear and Wolf stood a little way off to either side, spears raised at the ready. But Eagle signalled to them to stay their hands, this was his auroch to kill. The time had come to prove himself, now or never.

In this green meadow, backed by a burbling river and tree-clad hills, under a balmy sky, the two of them faced off. For the first time in his life Eagle truly felt the presence of the animal spirit that infused every creature with life. And with that came the realisation that their fates were now inseparable.

With the undivided attention of the auroch upon him Eagle started forwards, shaking his spear arm up and down as if weighing it ready to throw, and extending his other arm to the side to make himself look bigger and sterner. The bull dropped his head with its horns piercing the air between them, and stamped the ground with his foreleg to warn Eagle off, but Eagle matched him, pointing his hands, leaning forward and stamping the ground hard enough to create a cloud of dust around his feet.

For a moment the bull appeared confused, and looked to the side as if seeking an escape, but then it turned back and tensed up, head shaking, the hairs on its back standing up to increase its size, its legs pawing the ground with pent-up aggression. Eagle took a step forward and this spurred the bull into action. It began to charge towards him, hooves pounding the ground. Eagle could sense it through his feet, an enraged animal ten times his weight bearing down on him. On previous hunts with the tribe, he had felt exhilaration tinged with fear, now, facing this animal, one-on-one, he felt an all consuming raw fear for the first time.

He stepped forward, trying to stay light on his feet, so as not to get caught immobile. He had to wait until the bull was on top of him, to give it no time to react. With every thud the bull was growing into a monster, towering over him, seemingly impossible for a single man to overcome. The eyes boring into him, the horns like daggers pointing at his heart, the breath, in and out, like a howling wind. His body screamed run, but his resolve screamed back wait. At the last instant instinct took over and he jumped aside. The bull half-turned its head to follow him but its ponderous body could not react. As the animal passed Eagle twisted and thrust his spear into its massive, muscular shoulder. The stone blade cut through the flesh as deep as the shaft, and before it became embedded Eagle expertly worked it free.

The auroch roared and bucked, red blood streaking its black pelt. Eagle had just a few heartbeats before the bull had turned and charged again. Now it was not moving so fast it was harder to evade. The menace in its bearing was immense, all the fights it had had with other bulls, and all its victories lent it an air of invincibility, and Eagle felt it. He had to make his next strike count. The bull looked back, eyes impenetrable, and with a spirit that grew beyond the bounds of its hide to encompass the air about it and the ground beneath its feet.

When the bull was close enough, close enough to touch, he thrust his spear with all his strength into its neck, aiming to penetrate to its chest, and then grasping the shaft with both hands used its stiffness to help him leap back to avoid those piercing horns. The might of the bull's thrashing head wrenched the spear from his hands, but not before it had flung him sideways to be sent crashing to the ground.

Eagle jumped to his feet, ignoring the pain and breathlessness. For a moment he was disoriented, not knowing where the bull was. He turned to see the it bearing down on him. As its head dropped the loose end of the spear struck the ground and juddered and then snapped, tearing more flesh from the shoulder and causing the bull to stumble onto its front flank. It gave him enough time to turn and run. The bull, with deafening roars, lumbered to its feet and renewed its pursuit of Eagle. As he backed off Eagle took one of the rocks from his pocket and when the bull came within range he cast it hard and true and struck the bull under the eye. The sharp sound of bone cracking could be heard above the growling and groaning of the animal.

The auroch stopped, startled. Blood poured from the open wound where the spear stump hung. Eagle pulled out a second rock and, raising himself high, took a couple of steps towards the bull, launching the missile with a shout. It hit the animal on the nose and flipped its behaviour from fight to flight. It turned from him and started stumbling away, favouring one foreleg to protect its injured shoulder. Eagle pursued it with more shouts. The bull picked up speed, now seemingly numb to the pain, heading for the trees. Eagle kept up the chase. The creature crashed through the brush guarding the forest, which bent but did not break, bouncing back to reform into an impenetrable shield. Eagle used his arms to push aside the higher branches, but the lower stems were tough and knitted, which ensnared his legs, causing him to stumble and curse. And hidden amongst the brush were brambles which lacerated his flesh as he pushed on. His progress was reduced to little more than crawling pace as he battled through the thicket. After an interminable fight of flailing arms and legs, scratched to shreds, he escaped into a less dense glade where the shade of large trees prevented the proliferation of the dense undergrowth.

He looked around, but the auroch was nowhere to be seen. However he had little need of his tracking skills as the bull had left a trail of disturbed ground and drops of blood to follow. Further on, through the tree trunks, Eagle could see that the bull had paused to recover. Its head hung down and its breathing was laboured. Eagle pressed on, picked up his pace and charged through the trees. The bull startled, turned and ran off with Eagle in pursuit. Whenever the bull showed signs of slowing down, Eagle shouted at it to spur it on, forcing the pace.

The auroch stumbled on, then fell and struggled to rise. Eagle picked up a rock and threw it at it, striking its side and forcing it to get onto its feet and lumber on. Eventually it could go no further and it turned to face Eagle, gasping for breath, head down with its horns forward as a last line of defence. Eagle grabbed his chance, pulled out his blade and running around to the side of the bull he leapt up onto its back and reaching down slashed his treasured stone tool across the bull's throat. The tough hide was hard to slice through, even though Eagle had, the day before, knapped the blade to make it the sharpest it had ever been. The bull tried to react but fell onto its side with the effort. Eagle hacked away until he reached the vital blood supplies. One last slash and the blood spurted out. He cupped some of the blood in his hands and drank it down. Beneath him he could feel the life draining out of the beast.

A little while later Wolf and Bear appeared through the trees. They hollered when they saw Eagle sitting astride the auroch. Eagle sent Bear back to the tribe to fetch help to transport the creature before the hyenas appeared. He did not want Wolf to go and brag in front of Swan, as he could effortlessly twist words to his own advantage. Wolf's piercing gaze suggested that he had guessed Eagle's intentions when he asked Bear to go.

It was coming on dark when they all returned. carrying the carcass strung on poles. They had gutted the animal and separated the head from the body, which Eagle was carrying on his shoulder, hands wrapped round the horns, and limbs straining under the weight. The men, women and children who had stayed behind came out to watch the spectacle. Eagle bedaubed in blood led the march and when he saw Swan watching him he looked down shyly, but he walked tall to try and give the impression the head was no burden.

He stopped in the middle of the camp and looked around seeking out the Elders. He stayed there silent with the auroch's head on his shoulder until they came over to him, old man Eagle, old man Hawk and old woman Moon. Old man Eagle was first to speak, Eagle is hunter, he said with a wistful smile as if recalling his experience from so many years before. Old man Hawk said, Tribe will feast, with a fanciful smile as if imagining the beer he will drink and the weed he will smoke. Old woman Moon said, looking Eagle up and down, I paint cave, which pleased Eagle more than the others as it was what all hunters hoped for, to have their trophy immortalised in the hall of the bulls.

Eagle went down to the river to wash off the blood as the tribe joined together to butcher the carcass, stripping off every last morsel and recovering Eagle's buried spear tip. Even the children joined in, using scrapers to pare the flesh from the hide. The dogs, tethered to trees, howled incessantly until they were thrown scraps. The work went on long into the night.

Before the skull was butchered old woman Moon studied it from all sides to memorise its essence. She waved a stick in the air as if painting the head in space. She also gave Eagle an old pair of horns and asked him to hold them to his skull and reenact how the bull had behaved when it attacked him. Eagle was hopelessly unco-operative, and old woman Moon had to goad him with painful swipes from her stick to get him riled up.

The next day Eagle found old woman Moon mixing paints. She had taken burnt bone and charcoal from the fire and crushed it in with some fat, blood, spittle, which she coughed up with body-shaking effort, and urine whose quantity she could regulate with remarkable control while squatting over her mixing bowl. An ochre paint was created from ground clay, sourced from a valley where the stream runs red, and mixed with the same binders as the black.

She applied some of the paint to her own body and face, darkening her eyes and reddening her cheeks. She called Eagle over and decorated his shoulders with wings, reddy-brown outlined in black. Then she gave the pigment bowls to Eagle to carry while she picked up a stone lamp containing rendered animal fat and an embedded wick, along with a burning torch from the fire. She led off into the trees and up a slope covered in limestone scree to the base of the cliff which towered over the river valley. They picked their way sideways for a short while until a natural rocky staircase led up to a human-sized cleft in the grey limestone. Old woman Moon lit her lamp with the torch and left its burning embers at the cave entrance. Without a backward look to check if Eagle was following she plunged into the darkness.

Eagle tried to keep up with her but, while his eyes were adjusting to the dark, he wobbled warily along on the uneven cave floor, trying to hold the bowls level. He also cracked his head painfully on an unseen protrusion and let out a cry. Old woman Moon stopped and turned, looking at him with disdain, without saying anything. When he had caught up she continued further into the darkness. Eagle discovered that watching the silhouette of her feet in the flickering light enabled him to anticipate where to place his feet without stumbling. When she stopped again he was right on her heels and was pleased when she looked surprised at his towering presence within touching distance. She silently pointed at a shelf of rock and Eagle understood that he had to place the bowls there.

Old woman Moon placed her lamp on the shelf and stepped up to the wall. In front of her was a sheet of smooth limestone on which there were already paintings of aurochs, some whole, some just heads, appearing full of life as if they had just ran from out of the depths. She laid her hand on the wall in front of the leading bull and felt the rock, palms flat, as if trying to feel for a pulse. When it appeared she had found something her hands moved in a circle and her fingertips caressed the rock.

Leaning down she picked up a round stone from the floor, of a different composition from the rest, evidently brought in to the cave for this singular purpose. She rubbed this stone on the wall firmly, working to remove rough patches from the chosen area. From the way she worked the rock Eagle could see that there was a very slight prominence in the wall, which she traced with circular motions. When complete she tossed the stone to the floor, with a thump which echoed around the cavern, and went over the wall again with her hands to satisfy herself of its texture.

She took a stick with moss bound to its end from her tunic, and dipped it into the black paint, and then without hesitation started to apply the paint to the wall in confident strokes, replicating the movements she had made when tracing the head in the air.

Eagle was amazed that a few simple lines suddenly brought the bull back to life in front of him. and as she worked it grew more and more animated, and he trembled at the memory of it. Did this woman have magical powers to bring the animal back to life? Would it leap out of the wall and would he have to defend her from it? She did not appear to be concerned. The outline ended at the shoulders and front legs, where an existing bull lay, as if the new one were emerging from behind the other. She filled in the horns with black, as well as the snout and the front of the head up to the eyes.

Putting down the charcoal paint she took up the ochre, and using her hands rather than the brush she applied large swathes of the colour to the flank of the animal. When she was finished she stepped back, pulling Eagle away from the wall with her ochre hand, leaving the imprint of her hand on his arm. They stood side by side looking at the animal. In the flickering lamp light Eagle could see it tremble. It was as if the animal were trapped in the wall trying to escape, embodying the power to outlive death, and he felt its strength within him as if honouring his skill to single-handedly bring it down.

Later that evening, while the tribe were gathered together, preparing food, mending tools, extracting the last scraps from the auroch carcass, Eagle stood apart, on the edge of the clearing, hoping something would happen. Swan must have felt the same as, all of a sudden, she appeared next to Eagle. He almost jumped out of his skin with surprise and shock. He knew what he wanted to say, he had practised it in his head countless times, but the words refused to escape. The only solace he gained was from Swan's modesty, her gaze down to the ground, rather than the mesmerising look she could have frozen him with. He hoped she might say something but she did not. After an endless silence she made a move as if to go. In that moment Eagle feared he would lose her for ever and that fear finally loosened his tongue. Auroch in cave, he blurted out. She turned and looked at him and his heart stopped. Show Swan, she said in her soft, soothing voice.

In a daze Eagle led her away from the camp, picking up a lamp and a burning torch on the way. The members of the tribe that saw them smiled inwardly and outwardly as if they knew what would come next. Eagle followed in the footsteps the old woman had taken through the forest and up to the cliff, saying nothing but turning his head constantly to check that Swan was following. At the cave entrance he lit the lamp and left the torch outside, copying old woman Moon's every action.

Stepping into the gloom he turned to Swan and looking down, admiring her pretty little feet not for the first time, said to her, Cave is dark, Swan step on Eagle step, as if she had never been into the cave before. Eagle moved slowly and deliberately to ensure he did not trip and make a fool of himself. Where he had cracked his head with old woman Moon he turned and put out a hand to protect Swan's head, but she was not so tall and easily slipped under the protrusion, with her feet dancing on the uneven floor. He felt a pang of disappointment that she did not require his help.

They arrived at the Hall of the Bulls, feeling the air expand as the cavern opened out. Eagle led Swan to the far side, stopped, and turning to her indicated wordlessly, with a spread of a hand, that they had reached their goal. Swan looked up expectantly at him and in the flame of the torch her eyes were dazzling, he had dropped his guard and had to turn to the wall for safety. But he could not block his ears from her beguiling voice when she asked softly, and encouragingly, show Swan.

He held up the torch and the yellow flame lent a mystical light to the scene before them. It showed a group of aurochs, powerful and dangerous, running across the wall ready to jump out and trample them. At their head was the bull that Eagle had killed and which old woman Moon had brought back to life. He dared a glance at Swan, but she still had her eyes on him, and the voice came again, softly, barely touching the air, tell Swan.

Eagle was not a person of many words at the best of times, but he had to try to impress her. Auroch come from trees. Swan, in her turn, gave encouragement to him to go on. Yes.

Auroch is big.
  Yes.
Auroch is strong. Auroch is fast.
  Yes.
Auroch has spirit.
  Yes.
Eagle jump. Eagle stab spear.
  Yes.

Eagle's voice grew stronger and more expressive, and his body started to remember as he re-lived the hunt.
Auroch run. Eagle run.
  Yes. He began to believe that she was impressed by his actions.
Auroch fall. Eagle cut throat.
  Yes. Eagle hoped upon hope that his words were striking home and that she was impressed with his courage and fervour.
See, Auroch move he said, pointing at the image flickering in the lamplight.

But Swan had other ideas completely. She had not come to hear of his bravado, or to admire the painting. She was not interested in the story of the hunt, she was encouraging him to express himself through his body and mouth, so that she could observe his movements and the way his mouth formed the words and his lips expressed them like kissing the air. At the moment when he seemed to forget about her and lose himself in his story she gently raised a finger and placed it on his lips to silence him.

He looked like a startled doe caught with nowhere to hide. They were so close she could sense his latent excitement. He had the bearing and stiffness of a child caught misbehaving, embarrassed, not knowing what to do or say. She laughed gently and reaching out she took him in her hands.

Outside darkness and silence ruled. Beyond the cave rose the primeval yews and oaks, in which birds settled to their roost and beneath which hares hopped about going to their bed.

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She was borne, over four spring migrations from the sea to the summer pastures, first as a new born and then a year feistier each successive trek. This year she insisted on walking the whole way herself. Swan and Eagle had to manage the days to fit in with her moods, playful, commanding, demanding or unhelpful. Their kinsfolk journeyed at the speed that the aurochs imposed, but for Swan and Eagle it was the speed that Rowan, their daughter, dictated.

These two parents had not been gifted with any more children, even though they celebrated their union in all sorts of places and at all sorts of seasons, snuggled up in the cold of winter, or lying in meadows in the summer heat. So they treasured Rowan and indulged her in every way. When she learnt to walk and then talk their life became even more challenging. She had friends everywhere, real, imaginary or inanimate, and talked constantly to them. When Swan and Eagle woke in the morning Rowan was already up and about, investigating the smallest details of the world she found herself in, talking to whatever she had found, usually an insect or other small creature that could not escape her attentions. But she knew not to stray, she had been raised with the sense not to go beyond the call of her parents, as dangers lurked in unknown places, wolves and lions liked the cool of the dawn when their prey was sluggish.

Rowan had opinions about everything and would pester her parents incessantly, but when she smiled at them with her captivating hazel eyes they were drawn into her realm and looked at the world as she did, in awe and wonderment with every interaction, be it a tiny ant running up her arm, or a cave bear calling down from the mountains.

In the evening Swan would tell Rowan stories of the spirits that live under the earth to make plants grow, in the air to make animals conceive and in the water to make fish multiply. Some spirits were kindly bringing life, others cruel bringing death. But Swan made it clear to Rowan that they were elusive spirits that would not come to her aid when she met difficulties or did not get her way.

Rowan was inventive too. When she could not find animals to play with she would make them out of leaves, twigs, stones, mud, whatever was to hand. Swan showed her how to spin string from clumps of animal wool found on bushes, which could be used to bind or decorate the figures. Swan and Eagle also encouraged Rowan to play with the other children, but there were only a couple of similar age to her, both boys, whose idea of play was mucking around, fighting and picking on Rowan, which made her very cross and irritable. But the tribe's adults loved her and the absurd stories she would dream up, flying snails that could eat a mammoth, and jumping stones that could build a mountain to the clouds.

Freed from the requirement of following the aurochs this charming, little family could take the most direct route from their winter encampment near the sea, north to the summer pastures. However this was hindered by rivers that flowed west towards the setting sun, and in between ridges of higher ground which made for tiresome going, up and down, up and down. The major rivers were too deep to wade so they would make a simple raft out of thick branches tied together, put their provisions and Rowan on that and swim across pulling the raft between them. One time Rowan insisted on swimming but after a short burst of flailing arms she sank beneath the water and had to be pulled out by Swan.

One fine day in late spring, some time after the tribe had congregated in the summer meadows, Swan, Eagle and Rowan breezed into camp, Rowan leading the way as if she were born to it, her feet skipping along and her arms swinging purposefully at her side. The other children rushed over to greet her. She smiled sweetly and strode past, leaving them in her wake, emphatically proclaiming that she had arrived.

Swan smiled in appreciation. She had never been as outgoing as Rowan, but she shared her inquisitiveness and passion. Swan desired to know everything about the nature all around her. She had an independent spirit and wanted to discover it all herself, a characteristic she saw and encouraged in Rowan. Swan's mother had passed down her knowledge in a strict sense, eat this, don't eat that, use this, don't use that, do it like this, don't do it like that. And although Rowan was precious to her, Swan wanted Rowan to grow up in her own way and to acquire great knowledge and wisdom that would benefit the whole tribe.

Swan was constantly amazed by Rowan's perception of the world. On one occasion she sat while Rowan played with ants, trying to make them march in a particular direction using twigs as barriers. Swan asked, Ants do what. And Rowan, on seeing with what purpose they marched to and fro, answered, Ants get food. And she pulled Swan closer so she could see an ant carry a piece of leaf, bigger than itself, over insurmountable hurdles without any help. Tribe are ants, Rowan added with a leap of imagination.

And Rowan could astound with her inventiveness. One day she was playing under a yew tree. Swan watched intrigued as she picked up sticks that had fallen from the tree and was testing her strength trying to break them by bending them between her hands. After a few attempts, easily breaking small twigs and failing to bend larger ones, she started lining them up on the ground in order of stiffness. The first time she came upon a stick whose place was already taken she picked up the the stick from the ground and replaced it with the one in her hand. She now looked curiously at the stick in her other hand and back at the row on the ground. After a moment of consideration she realised that this had to go into the next position in the row, so she took that stick up with her free hand and replaced it. Repeating this to the end of the row she found she had a stick in her hand that was bigger than the rest. With barely a moments thought she added it decisively to the end of the row. Then she reviewed the line to confirm they were all in the correct order.

Swan, observing Rowan's actions, initially wondered why she had not sorted them the obvious way by making space for the new stick in the row. But in the midst of watching this child Swan had a sudden realisation that Rowan's scheme of meticulously weighing up the sticks in turn was like looking directly into the workings of her mind, and that she, her Rowan, had created this valid, yet not so obvious method all on her own. And in a flash Swan, with an inner gasp, had to finally accept that this little bundle of life, that had emerged from her womb, was a wholly independent being that saw the world differently to her, it was Rowan's world she looked out onto, not Swan's world. An upwelling of emotion caught her off guard, a confusion of choking laughter and smiling tears made her turn away, tears of lamentation for the loss of her baby, mixed with tears of wonder for how that baby had grown.

After Rowan was satisfied with her row of broken and unbroken twigs she tried again bending the unbroken ones and found that when she let go of one end of the bent stick it did not stay bent but straightened up. This seemed to defy her expectation and she repeated it several times to convince herself that it really was so. Her face was a picture of puzzlement, the broken sticks stayed broken, but the bent stick did not stay bent. Rowan was clearly pleased with her discovery and looked up at Swan to show her. See, she said as she bent the stick and let it go, showing its tenacity to stay straight. Swan smiled in acknowledgement but was looking at Rowan's face, the exuberant eyes, the pursed lips, the nose that wrinkled under the effort of perceiving. All the more evidence of the fearsome strength of spirit growing within Rowan.

Watching Rowan caused Swan to consider her own self, had she always been the same, or had she changed growing up? She thought about her own childhood, but could only recall memories of events, there was no recollection of how her spirit felt to her. From what she could see in Rowan it appeared that her spirit was evolving along with her. Swan recalled that in the previous year she had noted that Rowan could be deceitful when it suited her, to blame another child if something went wrong, whereas previously she would suffer her own failure with a tantrum. Had her spirit suddenly changed to become deceitful, or was it always there but unused. She would have to ask Crow the Diviner who could talk to spirits, because she could not perceive anyone else's spirit, not even Rowan's who was flesh of her flesh.

A bendy stick became the play thing of choice for quite some time after that. Swan showed Rowan how a bendy stick could stay bent by tying a vine stalk between the two ends. When materials were available the tribe would sometimes use larger versions of this to support a skin roof over a shelter. Rowan continued to test the possibilities of this new plaything. She found she could pull the vine and stick apart by widening her hands and the vine would snap back if she let go of it, with the added interest of it producing a noise.

Swan had many jobs to do so she let Rowan get on with bending sticks and talking to the world. Swan particularly enjoyed whittling wood into tools, she took satisfaction from the patience required to carve the pieces into the functional shape while at the same time making something people would admire and want to pick up. So early in the morning, while people were still barely awake, but the birds were in full song, and dew still clad the world in a web of spiders silk, she liked to scour the woods for fallen timber, to look at the shapes around her and take up the ones that drew her in and called out to be touched, which she would test for consistency and strength by striking them against the trunk of a tree, and listening for the reply.

Little by little Eagle grew critical of Swan's creative activities, starting with faint praise then commenting on the time she spent embellishing her carvings. At first it merely unsettled Swan but then she noticed this behaviour increasing as Rowan became more independent. When she was first born they both revelled and shared in the upbringing of this jumble of exhausting joy. But when she got to the walking, talking and exploring phase Eagle started to suggest to Swan that they should try harder for another child. She could not communicate to Eagle that she felt the desire to wait a while, to see Rowan grow, and to grow with her, gaining experience, learning to be both a mother and a valued member of the tribe. Whenever she tried to explain herself Eagle would question if she did not cherish being a mother to Rowan, and why she would not want to add to that experience.

The solution to her quandary of how to keep Eagle happy, without sacrificing her dreams, came to her like a supernatural whisper from her departed mother. Many years before, when she was well into puberty, and when boys were starting to see the beauty in her, her mother had confided in her that babies are conceived around the same time of each lunar cycle, half way between menstrual periods, and by using the phases of the moon as a calendar she could maximise the chances of becoming pregnant. Of course she could minimise them too by adopting the opposite dates. And so she started to limit the sexual activity between them to those days when she was least likely to conceive. She did not let on to anyone, it was her secret, but had she been more observant she might have seen the women of the tribe passing knowing smiles amongst themselves.

Swan would look for the moon and talk to anyone who would listen about its beauty and wonder why it changed shape the way it did, and how it mysteriously showed a ghostly whole when it was close to the sun, as if the missing part was there but not there, as if someone had painted charcoal over its face. In this way she could keep a check on the state of the moon, without, so she believed, raising suspicions of those who might guess her interest in it. This burgeoning interest in the moon led her to feel increasingly connected to it and its mysteries, and she started adding lunar shaped motifs to her carvings, the bulls horns, the bowl and the orb, indicative of the changing phases.

Using her lunar calendar she would play games with their intimacy, being creative and sensuous, without risking conception on those days she thought it most likely. The ploy was successful enough that Eagle suggested she consult Egret, the wise woman, for advice on why they were not conceiving, and she consented to show willing. Swan's face wore a mask of sincerity as she sat at Egret's feet, lying to the older woman about their lovemaking, while Egret, wise enough not to mention the murmurs amongst the womenfolk of Swan's subterfuge, cooked up a potion for her to use on Eagle. Swan nodded sagely as Egret explained the potency of each ingredient, despite having little faith in many of Egret's concoctions, thinking they were often a placebo rather than a cure. Then later, when showing the balm to Eagle, she acted hopeful, repeating Egret's words as affirmation of its efficacy. With these ploys she succeeded in quieting Eagle's grumblings for a while.

One morning Swan was up and away early in her search for fallen tree branches for use as raw material for her carvings. She worked the areas methodically looking for wood that had dried out sufficiently, but had not started to rot. Up above clouds rushed across the sky and a gust of fresh cold wind swept through her tunic and messed with her hair, provoking her to tighten the strap around her waist, and to twist and tie her hair with a narrow cord. She looked into the distance to see if there was rain coming but could not see any hint of it. She had always been puzzled by the wind because it did not always come from the same direction, in comparison to rivers which always flowed the same way year in year out, even as they weaved their way through the landscape, but winds could flow upstream, downstream or even cross-stream. It made no sense because the wind carried the rain which then flowed into rivers, if rivers were made of rain why didn't they flow in the same direction as the wind.

She walked past the cave and up into a dry valley that was not considered a good hunting ground, so was relatively undisturbed. The old yews and oaks were twisted into a multitude of shapes and braidings. The debris lying around was similarly contorted and Swan struggled to see the forms she sought within the fragments. But the forest had a magical essence and solitude that invited her to linger. She crushed the leaves of herbs in her fingers to gauge the aroma, but did not feel the urge to forage, it felt wrong somehow to take from the forest at that moment, as if the plants and the trees were indulging her this once, letting her pass unmolested. She would have liked to stay longer, she cherished these moments alone, but she had others to think of, and carrying her axe casually in her hand she returned to camp.

Eagle had an air of displeasure at having been abandoned for so long, but he said nothing, his scowl did all the talking. Swan smiled her best smile and sat next to him, lightly leaning into him. Eagle hunt, he said, and she nodded. She noted that the others had gone and Eagle would have to catch up with them. As he got up she squeezed his hand and kissed it, Eagle hunt good, she said and let his hand slip as he tugged it away.

Rowan was playing with her bent stick in the clearing between the shelters. She was showing off to anyone who would pay her attention, twanging the cord to make a noise. She had also invented a new game. She would pick up a small stone and holding it against the cord with her fingers she would pull the cord back and then let go of the stone. Often the stone would skitter off the cord and fall to the ground, or would hit the hand that held the stick, but once in a while the stone would shoot forward as if it had been thrown and land a distance away. Swan was intrigued and she called Rowan over to show her. When Rowan had repeated the trick a few times, Swan asked her if she could try. Rowan surrendered the bent stick with a slight resistance that Swan could sense through those beautiful little hands of hers.

Swan picked up a small stone and placed it against the cord like Rowan had done and pulled it back. She could feel that the strain felt harder the more she pulled, and when she let go the stone smacked into the thumb holding the stick causing her to let out a small cry. Rowan laughed.

With Rowan demanding the return of her toy, Swan quickly constructed a new one for herself, slightly larger, from a stick arms length and a cord from a sinewy vine stem. After just a few trials it became apparent that with a stone as a projectile it was nigh on impossible to control the direction - the stone would fly off almost anywhere except where intended, and no amount of care in placing the stone on the cord appeared to make any difference.

Giving up with stones she looked around for other possibilities and picked up a stick lying close by her. She placed one end of the stick on the vine and almost without thinking placed the other on her left hand holding the bent stick. She looked at this set-up a moment before pulling back the vine and stick with her right hand. But she pulled too far and the end of the stick dropped off her hand and hung limply down causing her to laugh out loud at an inappropriate image that popped into her mind. She had to put her toy aside as Rowan was asking what made her laugh and any reminder of it simply made her laugh more.

The next day, after Eagle had gone and while Rowan was playing, she took up her makeshift, rough-hewn, warped stick again. During the night, her mind whirling, lying pressed against Eagle's back, she had imagined it as a person, arms and legs stretched out in a gentle curve, as if diving into water. If it could embody a person then it should possess some spirit, some virtue, from its form as well as from its raw origin. And if it possessed some spirit then it must have some purpose. Holding it securely in front of her she continued her interrupted trial from the previous day, taking up a longer stick and placing it against the vine, resting the other end as before on her left hand. She pulled back the vine until the stick's tip was resting on her hand and let go. The stick shot forward in the direction it was pointing brushing her hand like a bee. She quickly repeated the test several times and found the stick to follow her aim every time, although she noticed that the tip had a tendency to twist about its centre. She felt pleased with herself, having discovered something that, even if it came to no use, no one else in her known world had created before. Not quite as magical as producing fire from stones but at least something that did not have an equivalent in the natural world.

She lay down on her back and looked up at the sky. Clouds drifted by on their unknowable journey from one side of the world to the other. A crow flew over closer at hand. What was it like to be a bird? She wondered if birds could see where the clouds went. Sometimes on their travels they climbed up a steep ridge and could look down on the world below, that must be what a bird sees all the time. And birds were revered by the tribe, especially birds of prey for their speed and cunning, but she was drawn to the swifts, with their swept back wings and their serene gliding, like black crescent moons slicing through the sky.

These reminders led her to close her eyes and imagine working a piece of wood into a sleek, elegant staff, and then bending it into the required shape with the interconnecting vine. Her hands ran up and down the shaft feeling the smooth texture of the wood. Nature seemed to approve of this form, the arc of the moon, the swift's swept back wings, the curve of a river, a tree bending in the wind, a rainbow. Yet when bending a stick she could feel a reactionary pressure wanting to return it to straight so maybe all these other forms had to counteract a similar force.

To her the craft of carving such a thing would be a pleasure in itself, but what purpose could it serve the tribe. Being able to cast a stone or a stick had to improve on what could be done by hand. She thought about the spears that were used in hunts, they could be thrown from a distance to keep out of harms way of a mammoth say, but they worked best on an ambushed animal and spears could not be thrown from a distance of stealth. However to hurl such a hunting spear with her device would require a huge curved staff operated by a giant.

Over the course of the next month, when she had time to herself, she experimented with the device, which she called an arc. She made a larger version which she would hold aloft against the sky, admiring its shape and imagining that she was holding the moon in her hand. With her best paring knife she whittled longer projectiles, taking care that they were smooth and straight. She made tests with these, adding stone weight to the rear of the projectile to give more push, or to the front to imitate a spear. The former was soon rejected because the projectile would invariably turn in the air to bring the weight to the front, whereas she quickly discovered that the latter improved accuracy and reduced the wobbling in the air. She became so engrossed that she would forget the time, and have to make excuses for coming in empty handed from neglected foraging or hunting. She would hide the arc in the bushes, a stick amongst sticks does not need much hiding, and pick it up again on her way out of camp in the early mornings.

One day, not long after, Swan was sitting in the camp, carving an axe handle from olive wood for Bear. He had exchanged some mammoth ivory for a new axe head that a stranger had brought to the camp, which was the finest Bear had ever seen. He proudly showed Swan the axe head and asked Swan if she could make a handle to match. She said she would try. She did not expect any reward or recompense, within the tribe tasks that contributed to the common good were shared, Suddenly she was aware of Eagle standing over her. She looked up and saw that he was holding her arc in his hand.

Stick is what, he said with a stern expression on his face that she was not used to. She surmised that he must have seen her emerging from its hiding place and gone to look for what interested her in the bushes. She knew that lying was not an option and besides she wanted to claim responsibility because if she did not do so now, she would lose the right to do so in the future.

Stick throw spears, she said standing up so that she mime the action of using the arc. He held it up in front of her with a perplexed look.

Small spears, she said guessing his puzzlement.

Small spear kill mammoth, he said sarcastically.

No, small animal, goose, she said making up the first thing that came into her head. To be honest she had been so engrossed in the making of it she had not really thought about how best to use it.

At the prospect of one of his favourite foods Eagle's stomach overrode his mood momentarily. Where goose? he inquired.

It suddenly struck Swan that there was this gulf between them which she had previously overlooked, that they saw things from completely different perspectives. Whereas she could look to the future, to the potential of the arc following testing and improvements, Eagle looked to the present, for instant results. No goose, she said and made the sign for a thought, something imagined, touching her hand to her forehead, palm inward, as if blocking the view.

What had been a gulf suddenly grew into a canyon as frustration and anger trembled down Eagle's face and body. He took the stick in both hands and forcefully brought it down hard across his knee snapping it clean in two with an explosive crack. She stifled a cry and resisted the urge to grab the broken stumps, slumping down onto the ground, her hands on her head.

Eagle still inflamed waited until she looked up at him and then expressed his feelings spitting out a forceful No and striking his hand fiercely against his head to make the same sign for thought. This was swiftly followed by a demand Swan get food. Swan caught the underlying message that she should not waste her time making things that did not provide food for their stomachs now. She took his command as an excuse to leave, to put distance between them and prevent a further escalation.

After a suitable period had elapsed Swan returned with a bag full of fruit and herbs and joined the others in helping to prepare the food for the tribe. Later, after dark, when Eagle lay under their fur skin, she took off her tunic and crawled in beside him, pressing her body as close to his as possible, wrapping her arms and legs around him. She could feel the resistance in him, the rigidness from his anger and disapproval. She gently caressed him and murmured into his ear soft, wordless nonsense. Slowly she could feel him relax ever so slightly. As her hands moved over his body the tension subsided, although his face stayed averted.

Over the next few days Swan buried any thoughts of the arc beneath a layer of activity as she endeavoured to finish the axe handle for Bear. Even Rowan had grown bored of her bent stick as she became intrigued by flying ants and the swallows that caught them on the wing, diving and wheeling in their interlacing manoeuvres.

Then a very surprising incident occurred. Late one day, with most of the tribe gathered around the fire, Swan brought the axe handle for Bear to check that the grip fitted his hand. Next to Bear, Wolf sat looking at her with those penetrating eyes. Eagle was a few places away so she dared not return Wolf''s look, concentrating on Bear's hand as he gripped the axe handle. Suddenly Wolf broke the silence, Swan spear kill geese, he said mimicking the action of drawing the arc. He then rubbed his stomach, Mmmm Wolf eat geese. Everyone looked up, and murmurs broke out amongst the circle. Another voice concurred Mmmm Hawk eat geese.

Swan was shocked, she had not told anyone about the arc and with trepidation she looked at Eagle in case he thought she had told the tribe. But he looked down at his feet as if embarrassed. It only occurred to her later that maybe Eagle had complained about her wasting time to Bear in an attempt to put her down, and perhaps later Bear had recounted the conversation to Wolf. Or even that, in his temper, Eagle had complained directly to Wolf.

Tribe see goose spear, Wolf said with a circling gesture around the fire, that indicated a common interest amongst the tribe. Swan could not admit what had really happened to the arc, so she lied, Swan break spear, using a raise of her hand, palm first, to indicate her regret. She could see and hear amongst the audience a sigh of disappointment that this evening's entertainment had been cancelled. Wolf looked around the circle and then, pointing to Bear's axe handle, said Swan make beauty. Swan blushed and looked towards Eagle to see his reaction but he continued to stare at the ground. Wolf took Eagle's silence as permission to continue, declaring Swan make goose spear, to which there appeared general approval from the tribe.

She was in a quandary, she expected that producing a new arc would upset Eagle, but he was such a difficult man to communicate with that, more often than not, she struggled to figure out what he was thinking. She knew from experience that even if he expressed an opinion it was not necessarily what he was wanting, it was as if he did not know himself. There was something of the child in him even though he was now a father to a child. But on the other hand she felt driven with a desire to create this thing despite him, this thing that had sprung from her hands and her head, merging the appreciation of the materials in her hands with the possibility of those materials in her head. She felt no-one else in the tribe could combine those skills like she could. She wanted this for the tribe, but she also wanted it for herself. And moreover, she had experienced an intense pride when the tribe had murmured their approval to Wolf's suggestion, which continued to thrill her just thinking of it.

She knew in her heart what she would do. First and foremost she would continue to support and love Rowan and Eagle with all her nature, but in the time she had for the common good and with the blessing of the tribe, she would resume her work on the arc. And if Eagle was not happy with that arrangement then it was up to him to deal with it.

And so it came to pass that over the next month Swan crafted a beautiful arc from a carefully chosen branch of yew. Otter provided the finest twisted plant fibre for the string and Hare made tiny flint heads for the tips of the projectiles, to pierce the target and to help them fly true. Eagle barely spoke to her, he directed all his affection to Rowan and if he needed anything would intimate that it was on Rowan's behalf, Rowan hungry, Rowan tired.

She tried to include him in her activities but any concession on his part was given begrudgingly. She needed his help to tension the arc when it was finished so she could attach the string to it, and in thanks offered it to him to give it its first shot. He took the arc and nonchalantly put a projectile on the string, fired it up into the air not aiming at anything in particular, and gave it back to her with a desultory expression. The projectile came down in some bushes and it was a time-consuming, tangled quest to find it again. The rest of the tribe were, however, much more eager to admire it and on more than one evening by the fire it was called on, passed around and praised.

Swan asked Bear if he would assist in its further development and he wanted to invite Wolf along, but she thought that would be a step too far. Together the two of them enhanced the distance and accuracy through many tests, even to the extent of breaking the original arc due to excessive tension, until they had a potentially potent weapon, albeit against static targets. Then came the day when she took aim at foraging geese, and after several failed attempts proudly bore a brace of them home which made everyone happy that evening.

After the geese had been consumed Shrew took one of the leg bones and fashioned a flute by boring holes along its length. The music and singing around the fire that evening was enhanced with some flourishing trills.

Soon the arc was in demand from the hunters in the tribe and Swan was fully occupied with the selection and carving of the wood. She revelled in the feel of the grain and with time she could sense through her hand and arm how shaping the wood could increase the power of the shot without demanding more strength. It was as if the wood were talking to her and guiding her hands to achieve the best shape in each instance. And she quickly learnt to feel, from a few test shots, when each arc was ready.

In the weeks leading up to the autumn migration south the arc became an essential accessory among the tribe, slender versions were used to kill geese and boar while larger ones, wielded by the strongest hunters, could take down a deer. And one day there came the time when it was used to kill a man, a member of a raiding gang that was trying to seize their food and women. And it worried Swan because she could foresee a day when all the other tribes round about were carrying the same weapon.

That was not Swan's only concern, while on the outside she she held up a mask of contentment, inwardly doubts about her status gnawed at her. Eagle was becoming more distant, less responsive even when curled up together at night. And Rowan was growing apart from her in a different way, she was mellowing from the force of nature that defined her early years and was becoming more involved with the other children, more dependent on their approval and acknowledgement. Swan tried to guide her through the complexities of childhood relationships as best she could, but often Rowan would only want brief comfort before pitching back into the fray.

Swan still had her hands and her artistry, she would carve wooden animals for the children to play with as well as the beautiful, functional tools for the tribe, but she could not shake off an ever present emptiness inside her. Then one day the cause of it struck her like a rock falling from on high. A young woman of the tribe, Petal by name, gave birth to a child and this tiny, screaming, red, ugly bundle of flesh made her yearn, with a visceral intensity, for another child of her own.

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