The Journey Back

*A blinding flash forced your eyes closed, the first sensation hitting you afterwards being a warm wave of air on your body...your NUDE body?! Opening your eyes and looking down you could see that you were naked, however before you could instinctively cover yourself your eyes also surveyed the surrounding area...You weren't in your classroom anymore, the landscape before you stretched out for miles, a mixture of savannah and sparse woodland. Before you could even comprehend what was happening a loud noise from your right caused your gaze to fall on a new scene, a herd of elephants and giraffes, you were somewhere in Africa. However the closer you looked the worse things got, those elephants had tusks on the bottom of their jaws, and on closer inspection the giraffes were bulkier and had antlers much like deer. Most people wouldn't have been able to date them or yourself, however you knew exactly what these were, Deinotherium and Sivatherium, two animals that were no longer alive in the 21st century, and hadn't been for a **long** time.*

*Even though literally everything pointed to this being a fever dream, after no amount of pinching managed to wake you there was only one conclusion that you could draw. You had been transported to somewhere in Southern Africa, roughly 2 million years ago, with nothing but the skin on your back.*
*But despite this, the single biggest shock came when your gaze fell on a small cluster of trees nearby, a group of humans sitting under it. However they weren't humans...not quite at least, these were the primates you had been studying before you got sent back, Homo Habilis.*
*Interestingly they didn't look quite like your textbook had imagined them, certainly more monkey-like, the females in particular...wait...large eyes, shapely bodies, not a trace of the elongated face the males had...**Shit** why is that what you're focusing on? You're alone in Africa 2 million years before you were born, alone, naked and NOT at the top of the food-chain currently. This wasn't a dream, and there was only one thing your primal animal instincts were telling you right now:*

**"Survive."**


John

*Obviously I can't NOT spend the next 10 minutes having a panic-attack, going through the 5 stages of grief and trying every single trick to wake up before I realise that no, this is real, somehow i'm here 2 million years in the past...and FUCK is it hot.*

*Ducking in under a small tree for some shade I try to get a better view of the area, what kind of animals can I see, paying extra close attention to the group of Habilis. Seeing an ancient type of elephant is one thing, but being the first homo sapien to see another species of homo in 40k years since the last neanderthals died out...its a special feeling.*


The Journey Back

*Surveying the landscape further, you spot a small herd of Sivatherium grazing in the shade of an acacia tree about 100 meters away. These ancient "giraffes" look quite different from their modern counterparts, with a more bulky build and a large pair of moose-like antlers sprouting from their heads. Shifting your gaze, you notice a lone Deinotherium bull ambling along the edge of the treeline. This massive creature, standing nearly 4 meters at the shoulder, is an awe-inspiring sight. Its downward curving tusks, so unlike the upward curving ivory of modern elephants, look like they could easily gore any foolish predator. Or human.*

*The group of Habilis seem to be going about their daily routine, apparently having not noticed you yet from your position under the small tree. Several females sit in the shade on the outskirts, picking through one another's fur, searching for parasites and insects. Nearby, a few young play, chasing each other around and wrestling in the dirt. The large dominant male sits in the center on an elevated termite mound, surveying his surroundings while gnawing on what looks to be the leg bone of some unfortunate antelope. His eyes are alert and his demeanor is tense, as if he is perpetually on guard against any threats to his family group.*

*As fascinating as it was to observe another hominid species, your predicament quickly sank in again. No food, no water, no shelter, no clothes, no tools. You were utterly vulnerable, basically a hairless ape thrown into an unforgiving wilderness that you had no experience with. Instincts battled with higher reasoning. Part of you wanted to immediately approach the habilis band, but the rational part of your mind knew that could be a fatal mistake. They would likely view you as a threat.*

*You needed a plan, and fast. Find water, fashion some kind of crude covering and weapon if possible. Food could wait a little longer. But as the sun climbed higher in the sky, beating down through the sparse canopy, thirst clawed at your throat. You wouldn't last long without hydrating. With a deep breath, you began to formulate your next move, knowing it could be your last if you chose poorly in this unforgiving ancient world.*

*The shade offered only slight reprieve from the oppressive heat, the air itself feeling heavy and humid. Surveying the landscape, you could see a small herd of Pelorovis, ancient water buffalo, grazing near a watering hole. Crocodiles and hippos lurked in the water, a reminder of the ever-present danger. Vultures circled overhead, riding thermals as they searched for their next meal. Thankfully, no predators seemed to be in the immediate vicinity.*

*Your attention turned back to the group of habilis sitting under a cluster of trees about 50 meters away. There were maybe 30 individuals total - a dominant male, his harem of females, and their offspring. The males had flatter faces and more pronounced brow ridges compared to the females. Sparse fur covered their bodies. They seemed to be resting in the shade, picking bugs off each other and making occasional grunting vocalizations. A few were using simple stone tools to crack open nuts.*

*As fascinating as it was to observe another hominid species, your predicament quickly sank in again. No food, no water, no shelter, no clothes, no tools. You were utterly vulnerable, basically a hairless ape thrown into an unforgiving wilderness that you had no experience with. Instincts battled with higher reasoning. Part of you wanted to immediately approach the habilis band, but the rational part of your mind knew that could be a fatal mistake. They would likely view you as a threat.*

*You needed a plan, and fast. Find water, fashion some kind of crude covering and weapon if possible. Food could wait a little longer. But as the sun climbed higher in the sky, beating down through the sparse canopy, thirst clawed at your throat. You wouldn't last long without hydrating. With a deep breath, you began to formulate your next move, knowing it could be your last if you chose poorly in this unforgiving ancient world.*


John

*Grabbing the lowest part of the Acacia tree I'd taken shelter in I clamber up to the top, or atleast as high up as I dare go without risking breaking the branches. I do find what looks like seed-pods, and while I never did pay enough attention in botany-class I THINK most acacia trees don't produce toxins. Taking one and carefully chewing on it it doesn't seem to be dangerous...but its about as enjoyable as eating bark.*
*Around 5 meters up I try to get a view of the area to find some source of water, a watering hole, fruit trees...anything.*


The Journey Back

*From your vantage point in the acacia tree, you scan the horizon, squinting against the harsh sunlight. In the distance, a shimmering line snakes through the grasslands - unmistakably a river or stream of some kind. The sight of water sends a jolt of hope and relief surging through you. However, the river looks to be at least a few kilometers away. To reach it, you'll have to cross open savanna rife with unknown dangers. But what choice do you have?*

*As you ponder your route, a flurry of motion catches your eye near the base of the tree. The band of habilis are on the move. The females gather up their infants, carrying them clinging to their bellies as they fall into a loose line behind the leader male. He stands bipedally, sniffing the air before letting out a short, sharp grunt. With that signal, the group sets off at a brisk pace... following the same general direction as the river.*

*Perhaps they too sought water and had caught the scent of the muddy banks. Or maybe they were aware of a closer source. Either way, it seemed your best bet was to discretely follow them, using the band as an unknowing guide and an early warning system for any dangers. You'd still have to remain downwind and give a wide berth, lest they spot you and perceive you as a threat. Carefully, you shimmy down from the acacia, making sure to grab a few more of the dry, slightly bitter seedpods to munch on. It wasn't much, but it would keep you going. With a deep breath, you set off into the tall grass after the habilis, your eyes and ears straining for any sign of peril in this primordial world you've found yourself thrown into.*

*From your elevated perch, you scan the surrounding landscape, desperately seeking any sign of water. To the north, the savanna stretches out in a sea of tall grass, broken only by the occasional flat-topped acacia tree. Herds of antelope-like creatures dot the plains, grazing peacefully. But no glimmer of water catches your eye.*

*To the east, the terrain becomes hillier, with exposed rock outcroppings jutting up from the grassland. A few scraggly bushes cling to the sides of the kopjes. Squinting, you think you spot some movement among the rocks. Probably baboons, or some other small primate. Still no sign of water.*

*Scanning to the south, your spirits lift as you notice a line of green winding through the savanna. Trees! And where there are trees, there is often water. The green band seems to be about two kilometers away. A daunting distance in your current state, but it may be your only hope.*

*As you turn your gaze westward, your heart nearly stops. There, not 500 meters away, a group of strange, knuckle-walking creatures is moving through the grass, roughly in your direction. They have the bulk of gorillas but move more like chimpanzees. These are no apes though - you recognize them from your studies as Paranthropus boisei, another hominid species from this era. Massive herbivores, but still incredibly strong and potentially dangerous. You'll need to keep a close eye on them. The towering trees to the south still look like your best bet, but you'll have to move carefully to avoid attracting unwanted attention in this perilous ancient landscape.*

*From your elevated perch in the acacia tree, you scan the surrounding savanna for any sign of water. In the distance, a shimmer catches your eye. Squinting against the harsh sunlight, you can just make out what appears to be a sizable watering hole about a kilometer to the east. The sight of it makes your parched throat ache with longing. However, you also notice a group of large, bulky shapes moving slowly along the water's edge. Even from this distance, you recognize the distinctive humped backs and long, curving horns of the ancient buffalo known as Pelorovis. Getting a drink would mean potentially putting yourself in close proximity to these aggressive and territorial beasts.*

*Glancing back at the habilis troop, you see that they have begun to move, gathering up their meager possessions and any scavenged scraps of food. The dominant male seems to be directing the group, grunting and gesturing with his powerful arms. They appear to be heading in the general direction of the watering hole as well. You realize that following them, at a discrete distance of course, may be your best bet. They would know the safest routes and times to approach the water without running afoul of the dangerous megafauna. Of course, this plan hinges on not being spotted by the habilis, who would likely react with fear and hostility to your sudden appearance. Steeling your nerve, you begin to carefully descend from the acacia, making sure to keep the tree between yourself and the hominids. Once on the ground, you crouch low and begin to follow the habilis at a careful distance, using the scattered trees and brush as cover. The journey to the water promises to be a perilous one, but what choice do you have? In this ancient, untamed world, every decision is a gamble with your very survival at stake.*


John

*As I walk I can't help but wince every few steps as my foot touches a slightly pointy rock of a stick, I'd never considered shoes a luxury but god what I wouldn't give for a pair of sandals right now.*
*Thankfully the walk to the river goes by without incident as I try to stay around 100 meters behind the habilis, staying a decent bit away as we reach the river as well.*

*I nearly go to drink before I stop, peering into the slightly murky water to try to discern any possible movement underneath the surface. Grabbing a pebble I lob it around 4 meters across the river, waiting to see if something will react to it.*


The Journey Back

*The pebble plunks into the water with a small splash, sending ripples across the surface. For a tense moment, nothing happens. Then, in a sudden explosion of movement, a massive crocodilian head lunges from the depths, jaws snapping shut around the spot the stone landed with a resonating crack. The creature, easily 4 meters long, thrashes in the shallows before submerging again with a swish of its powerful tail. A Crocodylus thorbjarnarsoni, a prehistoric cousin of the Nile crocodile. The river was clearly its territory.*

*Slowly backing away from the treacherous riverbank, you notice the habilis have wisely opted to take a similar approach. The troop has gathered around a spot about 20 meters downstream, where the river widens and slows, forming a shallow ford. Here, even the smallest infants can wade across with little difficulty. As they stop to take long drinks, you notice the large male once again taking up a sentry position on a nearby termite mound, his eyes scanning for any threats to his family group.*

*Thirst claws at your throat, urging you to approach and drink, but caution holds you back. Then, you spot it - a natural spring bubbling up from a crack in a limestone outcropping, forming a series of small pools as it meanders down to join the main river. The water looks clear and inviting, likely filtered by the rock. Better yet, it's separated from the part of the river the habilis are using, so you could drink without alerting them.*

*Cupping your hands, you gulp down the cool, mineral-rich water, feeling it soothe your parched throat. As you drink your fill and splash some on your dust-streaked skin, a wave of relief washes over you. You'd managed to avoid disaster so far. But the day was far from over, and you still needed to find more substantial food and shelter. As if to punctuate this thought, a distant trumpeting roar echoes across the savanna - the unmistakable call of some ancient elephant. A reminder of the myriad dangers still lurking in this primeval landscape.*

*The pebble plunks into the water with a small splash, sending ripples across the surface. For a tense moment, nothing happens. Then, in a sudden explosion of movement, a massive crocodilian head lunges from the depths, jaws snapping shut around the spot the stone landed with a resonating crack. The creature, easily 4 meters long, thrashes in the shallows before submerging again with a swish of its powerful tail. A Crocodylus thorbjarnarsoni, a prehistoric cousin of the Nile crocodile. The river was clearly its territory.*

*A short distance down the bank, the habilis troop had also paused to drink, but they seemed far warier. The females took turns scooping water into their mouths while the others kept a vigilant watch. The male paced along the shoreline, his eyes scanning the water's surface and occasionally standing up on two legs to peer over the tall reeds. They were all too aware of the dangers lurking in the river. After quenching their thirst, the group quickly moved away from the treacherous banks, disappearing into a thicket that likely led to their nightly nesting site.*

*The sinking sun painted the sky in brilliant oranges and purples, a breathtaking sight unmarred by any modern pollution. But as the light faded, so too did the oppressive heat of the day. Already you could feel a chill settling into your bare skin as the temperature rapidly dropped. The crocodile encounter had left you shaken and no less thirsty. Attempting to drink from the river would be suicidal. You needed to find a safer water source, and fast.*

*As if in answer to your predicament, the breeze carried a new sound to your ears - the distant trumpeting of elephants. Where there were elephants, there was often water. A water source too shallow for crocodiles to lurk in, but deep enough for a large herd to drink and bathe. It was a gamble, but what other choice did you have? Navigating by the herd's calls, you set off into the deepening twilight, the first stars winking to life overhead in the vast expanse of the Pleistocene sky.*


John

*I watch as the habilis troupe starts to move again, walking back the same direction the came from. Quickly grabbing a large stick I find the nearest spot of soft soil around the limestone, hoping that would be enough to let me find it again.*

*Once more following the group at a distance, I can't help but notice the females again. Recreation of homonid ancestors certainly don't try to make them "attractive", and for the males that would certainly be the case, but the females look almost lifted from some imange on e621, even despite the fur and certain monkey like features, or maybe because of it?*


The Journey Back

*As you trail after the habilis band, you can't help but let your mind and eyes wander to the females again. Their forms are indeed curiously alluring, a far cry from the brutish, ape-like recreations seen in museums and textbooks back in your time. The light coating of fur accentuates rather than conceals their curves, and their faces have a softer, almost elfin quality compared to the males. You find your eyes drawn to the curve of their hips, the swell of their hairy breasts... before mentally slapping yourself. "Get it together man," you mutter under your breath, "this is neither the time nor the taxonomic class." Besides, even if you could somehow communicate your intentions, you doubt the alpha male would take kindly to you hitting on his harem.*

*Shaking off the inappropriate thoughts, you continue to discretely trail the habilis band as they make their way back from the river. The landscape gradually changes, the lush riparian foliage giving way to more open grassland dotted with sparse copses of trees. You can't help but marvel at the pristine, untouched nature of it all. No roads, no power lines, no trace of human civilization. Just an endless expanse of wilderness, raw and beautiful and deadly.*


John

*Eventually I spot the Acacia tree once more, glad that I've atleast found ONE landmark that I can use. Plopping down nude in the shade I look up at the sun, still around the center of the sky, meaing that there should still be a while until nightfall. Taking the moment to breathe and think my brain is only able to come to a single concusion, somehow i'll need to become a part of that troupe. Homonids didn't survive by going alone, and even being the most intelligent creature on earth right now that still applied to me. (Holy shit right now i'm the smartest creature alive!)*

*But just walking up to them wouldn't work, i'd probably need some kind of "peace offering", a killed animal in other words. And for that I would need some type of weapon...Breaking of a branch would work well enough as a base but I'd still need to sharpen it. A single bit ruled my teeth out so I'd need to use a rock, but not being a geologist i'd have no choice but to find a palm-sized rock and trial-and-error my way splitting others with it.*


The Journey Back

*The afternoon sun beats down mercilessly as you set about your task, the Acacia's meager shade providing scant relief. Selecting a sturdy branch, you snap it off at the base, the green wood bending then splintering with a satisfying crack. Stripping off the leaves and smaller twigs, you're left with a straight shaft about a meter and a half long. It's a start, but the tip is far too blunt to pierce flesh. You need something to shape and sharpen it.*

*Casting your gaze around, you spot a scattering of rocks near the base of a small cliff face. Scooping up a couple of palm-sized chunks of quartzite, you squat down and begin striking them together over your branch, trying to chip off a suitable flake. It's tedious, frustrating work. The first several rocks crumble uselessly, the stone flaking away in brittle shards. Sweat beads your brow and stings your eyes, your hands ache and your patience wears thin. But just as you're about to give up, a particularly well-placed strike sends a large, sharp flake spinning off. Seizing it triumphantly, you set to work on your spear, the razor edge of the stone cutting and scraping the green wood.*

*Time passes unmarked as you toil, the sun inching its way across the shimmering sky as if taunting your efforts. But eventually, your persistence is rewarded. The branch has been transformed into a crude but serviceable spear, its tip honed to a wicked point. It's not pretty, and doubtless a far cry from the balanced, carefully crafted weapons of later sapiens. But it's the first step in evening the odds in this unforgiving world, a small piece of control in the face of overwhelming vulnerability.*

*Rising to your feet, you heft the spear, getting a feel for its weight and balance. The habilis band still mill about in the near distance, seemingly settled in for the remaining daylight hours. You know attempting to approach them unarmed would be foolhardy. But with your new weapon, the prospect of bringing down some small game to prove your worth seems much more achievable. You set off into the tall grass, senses straining, the hunger in your belly now edged with a new sense of purpose.*

*As you set about your task of creating a rudimentary spear, the sun continues its inexorable arc across the sky. The heat is oppressive, making your skin slick with sweat and your movements sluggish. Every so often, you pause to wipe the stinging perspiration from your eyes, leaving streaks of dirt across your brow. The repetitive motion of striking rock against rock jars your arm and shoulder, but slowly, painstakingly, you begin to see results. Flakes of stone chip off, leaving behind a jagged, bifacial edge. It's crude, but it's a start.*

*Time seems to lose meaning as you work, the world narrowing down to the stone in your hand and the branch braced against your knee. The incessant buzz of insects and the distant calls of unknown beasts fade into background noise. Occasionally, you glance over to where the habilis have settled in the shade of a sprawling fig tree. The females lounge, grooming each other and nursing their young, while the juveniles play, chasing each other and wrestling in the dust. The alpha male rests but never fully relaxes, his eyes continually scanning the horizon for any hint of danger. They seem so at peace, so perfectly adapted to this untamed world. A pang of envy and loneliness shoots through you.*

*Finally, as the shadows begin to lengthen and the worst of the midday heat subsides, you stand, stretching your stiff, aching muscles. In your hand, you grip the product of your labors - a serviceable, if somewhat misshapen, wooden spear, its fire-hardened point glinting in the amber light. It's not much, but it's a start. A tool, a weapon, a means of survival. With it, you can hunt, defend yourself, and maybe, just maybe, prove your worth to the habilis band. The road ahead is long and fraught with peril, but for the first time since you found yourself stranded in this primeval landscape, you feel a flicker of hope. With a deep breath, you set off into the gathering dusk, your resolve hardened and your senses alert. The greatest test is yet to come.*


John

*Its quite an interesting feeling, one that you often don't get in modern society, trying to find something to kill, something to eat. Looking back at the spear I consider my options, anything bigger than me would be too hard to both kill and carry some, something like a warthog or the pleistocene equivalent being too tough to take down with just sharpened wood.*

*Some type of antelope then, either an impala, some small kudu or some gazelle...or atleast something similarly sized. The one single advantage I had in this new world was the fact that homonids had not yet risen to the position as predators, and thus most herbivores shouldn't consider me that great of a threat if I make myself a bit smaller.*


The Journey Back

*As you crouch low and slink through the swaying sea of grass, you spot a small herd of Thomson's gazelle grazing in a clearing ahead. The dainty ungulates look so familiar and yet alien at the same time - their markings and shape are instantly recognizable, but their size is slightly off, their snouts a bit longer, their horns a slightly different shape. These are Gazella harmonae, an ancient relative of the modern species. They browse contentedly on the tough savanna plants, occasionally lifting their heads to scan for danger, but remain unaware of your presence for now.*

*You pause at the edge of the clearing, considering your approach. A direct charge would be foolish - even with your spear, the gazelles' speed and agility would make them nearly impossible to catch. An ambush seems the wisest course of action. You spot a low outcropping of rocks jutting up near the edge of the herd, providing a natural blind. If you can get into position behind it without being spotted, you might have a chance at bringing one down as it passes by. Slowly, carefully, you begin to creep forward, the anticipation of the hunt thrumming through your veins. For a moment, the eons separating you from your ancestors seem to melt away, and you are just another predator seeking your place in the primal dance of life and death on the African savanna.*

*But the gazelles are not the only players in this age-old drama. As you inch your way towards the outcropping, a chilling cackle splits the air. Your head whips around to see a pack of strange, canid shapes emerging from the tall grass at the opposite end of the clearing, sleek and dappled and moving with deadly purpose. Lycaon sekowei, the ancient ancestor of the African wild dog. The pack begins to fan out, amber eyes locked on the now nervously milling gazelles. A confrontation is brewing, and you are caught in the middle, the simmering tensions between predator and prey threatening to boil over into chaos at any moment.*

*Crouching low, you begin to stalk through the savanna grasses, your eyes scanning for any sign of suitable prey. The sun beats down, the heat shimmering in waves off the golden stalks that brush your bare skin. A slight breeze carries the scent of sun-warmed earth and the distant river, along with the calls and chatter of unfamiliar birds. For a moment, you almost forget your predicament, lost in the primal thrill of the hunt.*

*Suddenly, you freeze, spotting a flicker of movement about twenty meters ahead. Carefully parting the grass, you spy a small herd of antelope, their tawny coats dappled with white. Raphicerus, a distant ancestor of the steenbok. The diminutive ungulates browse contentedly, unaware of your presence. You notice one, a young doe, that has wandered slightly away from the rest to nibble at a particularly enticing patch of herbs.*

*Slowly, carefully, you begin to creep forward, mentally gauging the distance, the wind direction, trying to recall anything you've ever read or watched about primitive hunting techniques. Your heart pounds in your chest, your mouth goes dry with anticipation. Closing to within ten meters, you grip your spear, muscles tensing. You know you'll likely only get one chance at this. With a silent prayer to whatever gods might be listening in this savage world, you burst from the grass, arm cocked back to hurl your primitive weapon at the startled doe.*


John

*"Fuck fuck fuck not now!"*
*My eyes dart between the dogs as the gazella, adrenaline pumping through my veins. Every fiber of my being is telling my to run, but my feet remain firmly rooted to the ground even as the dogs begin to give chase, seemingly hunting in a similar mannar to modern-day wild dogs.*

*As the pack takes off after a single gazella my feet finally move, standing up and turning back to the arcacia tree only to find myself face to face with a one of them, having run into my trying to pursue the gazella from the side. Even away from its pack, I can't stop my spear from shaking as I face down the now barking and snarling beast. This is it, kill or be killed, the reality that is so far removed in modern life.*


The Journey Back

*The ancient wild dog snarls, baring its fangs as it slowly circles you, looking for an opening. Its amber eyes are fixed on you with laser focus, the predatory intent clear. Your grip tightens on your spear, knuckles white, as you pivot to keep facing the canine. The sounds of the hunt fade into the background, the rest of the pack's cacophony of yips and howls growing distant. In this moment, your world has narrowed to this: you, the dog, and the space between life and death.*

*The Lycaon lunges, jaws snapping at your leg. Instinctively, you thrust your spear forward, catching the beast in the shoulder. It yelps in surprise and pain, dark blood welling up from the wound, staining its mottled fur. But the injury only seems to enrage it further. It darts back, then launches itself at you again, this time aiming for your throat. You manage to bring the haft of your spear up just in time, catching the dog's jaws on the sturdy wood. The impact jars your arms and sends you staggering back, but your weapon holds, the creature's fangs now locked on the shaft as it tries to wrench the spear from your grasp.*

*Adrenaline surges through you, ancient instincts rising from depths of your hindbrain you never knew existed. With a primal snarl of your own, you wrench the spear to the side with all your strength, trying to shake the dog loose. The two of you tumble to the ground in a writhing tangle of limbs and fur and sweat-slicked skin. The coppery scent of blood mingles with the wild dog's musky odor and your own sharp, unfamiliar smell of fear. Dust billows up in choking clouds as you grapple, the Lycaon's claws scrabbling at your flesh, its teeth still stubbornly clenched around your spear. You can feel your strength flagging, but you know you can't relent. To falter now is to die, a red and ragged end in the jaws of a Pleistocene predator. You have to end this, and quickly, before the rest of the pack returns...*


John

*Trying to hold the spear in place with a single hand I fumble on the ground with my other, hoping to find a rock or a large stick...ANYTHING! In a movie this is where I'd find a sharp piece of flint but not here, my hand remaining empty as the dog managed to shake itself free from the spear.*

*I barely have time to bring my hands up to catch its face as it lunges for me, those glistening teeth only a few centimeters from my eyes. In a last gamble I adjust my grip for just a moment, holding onto the dogs head as my thumb pushes into its eye. Its suprisingly easy, my brain barely even registering it as I keep pushing it further and further in. In a split second as the dog stops its attack to cry out I reach for the spear, managing to shove it into the stomach of the dog.*


The Journey Back

*The wild dog staggers back, yelping pitifully as blood and clear viscous fluid gush from its ruined eye socket. Its flanks heave as it gasps for breath around the spear jutting obscenely from its abdomen. The shaft is slick and dark with gore, the once-dry savanna soil now damp with rapidly spreading scarlet. The creature's legs scrabble weakly at the earth as it tries to retreat, each movement driving the cruel point of the spear deeper into its body.*

*But even in its death throes, the ancient Lycaon is a formidable beast. With a final, desperate surge of strength, it rears up and lunges at you again, jaws straining to reach your vulnerable flesh, its remaining eye wild with pain and primal fury. Your hand finds a fist-sized rock, fingers clenching around the rough stone as you bring it up in a vicious arc. It connects with the side of the dog's skull with a sickening crunch, and the creature goes limp, crumpling to the ground in a twitching heap.*

*Silence descends over the small glade, broken only by your own ragged breathing and the distant sounds of the gazelle herd's panicked flight. Shakily, you climb to your feet, the stone still clutched in your white-knuckled grip as you stare down at the broken form of the Lycaon. A strange mix of emotions roils in your gut - revulsion, elation, terror and a primal, savage thrill of victory. You have just taken a life with your own hands, watched it bleed out its last at your feet. In this strange, ancient world, you have proven yourself a killer. A survivor.*


John

*Its not smart, in fact its so fucking dumb the rational part of my brain can't believe i'm going it as it feels my body act on its own, raising the spear with one hand and letting out a cry of victory.*
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUGHHH!!!!!!!!

*....Even as the shout dies down I can't exactly call it a glorious victory, the limp form of the dog looking far smaller now than it did a minute ago. Hoisting it over my shoulders as I pick up my spear it can't weigh more than 20 kilograms, and I barely killed it...Even so, I killed it, and now hopefully I have something for the Habilis.*


The Journey Back

*The coppery scent of the wild dog's blood mingles with your sweat as you haul the carcass over your shoulders. It's a struggle to balance the dead weight while also gripping your spear, but gradually you find a workable rhythm, staggering determinedly back towards the distant treeline where you last saw the habilis troop.*

*As you walk, you can't help but marvel at the alien feel of the canine's still-warm fur against your bare skin. The coarse guard hairs prickle and scratch, so unlike the soft pelts of the dogs you knew in your own time. But there is little time to reflect on this small, strange detail. Already you can hear the sounds of life and activity resuming in the wake of the hunt's sudden violence - the tentative chirps of birds, the drone of insects, the rustling of grass stalks in the fitful breeze. The eternal rhythm of the savanna, ancient and unchanging.*

*Drawing closer to the scattered copse of trees, you spot the habilis once more. They seem to have been drawn by the commotion, watching from a wary distance, dark eyes bright with curiosity and caution. You slow your pace, suddenly unsure. The reality of what you are about to attempt hits you like a physical weight. You are about to walk into the midst of a troop of early hominins, carrying the bloody carcass of a creature you killed with a weapon of your own crude making. The sheer audacity, the utter strangeness of it threatens to overwhelm you. But really, what choice do you have? In this primordial world, their acceptance may be your only hope for survival. Steeling yourself, you adjust your grip on the Lycaon's corpse and continue your dogged march forward, ready to meet your distant ancestors.*

*The arid wind whips at your face as you trudge across the savanna, the dead weight of the wild dog draped across your shoulders. Each step is an effort, the coarse fur rubbing your bare skin raw, the cloying scent of blood filling your nostrils. But beneath the exhaustion and disgust, a small ember of pride glows in your chest. This gruesome trophy is proof of your worth, your ability to survive and even triumph in this unforgiving land.*

*As you approach the stand of acacia trees where the habilis troop makes their temporary home, you spot the alpha male perched atop his termite mound throne. He catches your scent on the breeze and stands to his full height of four feet, bristling and sniffing the air. Lips peel back from impressive canines as he lets out a warning grunt, unsure whether to interpret your blood-soaked form as evidence of a threat or a potential windfall. The females and youngsters watch warily from the shade, dark eyes wide and alert.*

*You stop a cautious distance from the band, not wanting to trigger a defensive charge from the agitated leader. Slowly, deliberately, you lower the wild dog carcass to the ground, taking a step back and holding your empty hands out in a universal gesture of supplication. The male clambers down from his perch and approaches the offering, movements jerky with tension. He prods the corpse with a foot, nostrils flaring as he takes in the earthy musk of the kill. The rest of the troop creep forward, unable to resist the tantalizing promise of fresh meat.*

*For a long, breathless moment, the scene hangs in fragile balance - the habilis leader torn between suspicion and temptation, the females and young eager to claim a share, and you standing vulnerable and alone, awaiting judgment. Then, with a decisive grunt, the male begins to tear into the carcass, and the spell is broken. The troop swarms forward in a frenzy of snatching hands and snapping teeth, squabbling over the choicest bits of offal. And in the midst of the chaos, the alpha looks up and meets your gaze. A look of something like recognition, perhaps even respect, flickers in his dark, primal eyes. A tenuous thread of understanding stretches between you, the first gossamer strand in what may become a lifeline in this savage, unforgiving world.*


John

*I take a deep breath, "its do or die". Giving a low whistle I step out closer to the troupe, watching as they all turn to look at me.*
*Hoising the dog down from my shoulders my biceps tense as I grab it by both of its hind-limbs, dragging it behind me for another few dozen meters, stopping around 20 meters away from the group. Doing this to a group of chimps would be suicide, you'd get torn apart by one of those in a second, however hominids generally were smaller and weaker, habilis being especially small. Still, even if I didn't die here, I still needed to integrate into the group.*

*Letting the dog go I take a few steps back, squatting down to not make myself as tall. I never did get to studying gorilla or chimp-behavior, so I can only rely on the human ways to appear non-threatning and praying that we're more similar than different.*


The Journey Back

*The reaction from the habilis troop is immediate and electric. They erupt into a flurry of agitated hoots and chattering screeches, the females snatching up their infants and retreating behind the bristling males. The alpha leaps from his termite mound perch, landing in a crouch on all fours. He pant-barks loudly, baring his fangs as he pounds the ground with his knuckles. But he does not charge - not yet. There is confusion in his dark eyes as he stares at you, trying to make sense of this strange, hairless ape-thing that has suddenly appeared in their midst.*

*The carcass of the wild dog lies on the ground between you, a gory, fur-matted buffer. Slowly, the male creeps forward, nostrils flaring as he scents the air. The metallic tang of blood is overwhelming, setting the whole troop further on edge. He reaches the Lycaon and crouches down, poking at it suspiciously. When it does not move, he becomes bolder, grasping its limp head and twisting it back and forth. Realization seems to dawn - this is food, a gift of meat. But from where? His gaze swings back to you, eyes narrowing.*

*Behind him, the rest of the troop watch with rapt attention, their cries subsiding into an anticipatory silence. This is something new, something unprecedented in their collective experience. A lone stranger bearing fresh kill, offering it freely? Such a thing has never happened. Tension crackles in the air like the charge before a lightning strike. The alpha male's next move will determine everything - whether he chooses to accept this offering and the peculiar creature that brought it... or sees you as a threat to be driven off or destroyed. The fate of a fledgling friendship between species - or a swift and bloody rejection - hangs in the balance.*

*The habilis troop watches you intently as you drag the wild dog carcass closer, their dark eyes alight with a mix of curiosity, apprehension, and hunger. The sight and scent of fresh meat is clearly a powerful draw, overriding some of their instinctive wariness. A few of the bolder individuals take hesitant steps forward, nostrils flaring as they catch the coppery scent of blood on the air. But they remain cautious, acutely aware of your alien presence.*

*The alpha male rises from his position at the center of the group, his stance tense and alert. He moves towards you slowly, his eyes never leaving your face, searching for any sign of threat or challenge. The females and youngsters watch anxiously from the sidelines, ready to flee at the first hint of danger. The male halts a few paces from the wild dog carcass, his gaze flicking between you and the tantalizing promise of food. He utters a low, guttural grunt, the sound somewhere between a question and a warning.*

*The moment hangs in delicate balance, the ancient tableau frozen on a knife's edge. The male habilis could charge, could see your offering as a challenge to his dominance and lash out in a display of aggressive strength. Or the lure of an easy meal could win out over his caution, your strange form forgotten in the face of such a windfall. Slowly, carefully, you inch back from the carcass, keeping your posture hunched and unthreatening, praying to whatever ancient gods might be listening that this gamble pays off. The future of your tenuous existence in this unforgiving world rests on the decision of this primordial patriarch.*


John

*Knowing that speaking is pointless I try my best to get my point across via body-language.*
*Grabbing my spear and rising to my full height the alpha only comes up to around my clavicle, despite seemingly being the largest in the group. With a sharp cry I thrust my spear into the dead dog before pulling it out again, using it to point across the savanah then back to the dog, then letting the tip smack against the ground besides the dog, once, twince, three times...*

*I squat back down and slowly back off again.*


The Journey Back

*The alpha male watches your display intently, his eyes tracking the arc of your spear as you thrust it into the wild dog's corpse and gesture across the savanna. His brow furrows, the gears almost visibly turning in his head as he tries to parse the meaning behind your actions. Slowly, cautiously, he approaches the carcass again, sniffing at the wound left by your spear. His fingers probe the torn flesh, coming away sticky with blood. He lifts them to his mouth, tasting the iron tang on his tongue. Something clicks in his expression, a glimmer of understanding.*

*He turns to the rest of the troop, grunting and hooting in a series of short, sharp vocalizations. Gradually, they begin to emerge from their defensive huddle, creeping forward to investigate the strange bounty you've brought. The boldest among them, a wiry adolescent male, darts in to snatch a mouthful of fur and flesh, dancing back out of reach of the alpha's irritated swat. Emboldened by his success, others move in, tearing at the carcass with eager hands and snapping jaws.*

*As the habilis fall on the dead Lycaon in a frenzy of feasting, the alpha turns his attention back to you. He approaches slowly, knuckles grazing the ground, his steps deliberate and measured. There is still wariness in his posture, but it is tempered now by a wary sort of curiosity. He halts a few paces away from you, nostrils flaring as he takes in your alien scent. For a long moment, he simply stares, his gaze roving over your strange, hairless form, your crude spear, your utter otherness. Then, with a soft huff, he reaches out and plucks at your arm, rubbing the smooth skin between his rough fingers as if marveling at its texture. It's a fleeting contact, but one laden with significance - the first tentative bridge across an unimaginable gulf of time and evolution.*


John

*I don't say anything but I hold my free hand outstretched towards him, as if saying "look, they're the same".*


The Journey Back

*The alpha male cocks his head, studying your outstretched hand with a mixture of puzzlement and burgeoning interest. Slowly, hesitantly, he reaches out again, his leathery palm hovering a hairsbreadth from your own. For a breathless moment, you think he might actually touch you, a true connection spanning the aeons. But at the last second he withdraws, grunting softly as he rocks back on his haunches. It seems the gulf between you is still too vast to bridge in one encounter, no matter how momentous.*

*Behind him, the rest of the troop have reduced the wild dog carcass to little more than tattered skin and splintered bone, their faces and hands smeared with blood and grease. The alpha turns to them, barking out a sharp command. Grudgingly they move away from the remains, some pausing to snatch a final gobbet of meat or strip of hide. The alpha bends down, gathering up what's left of the Lycaon and slinging it over his shoulder. With a final, inscrutable glance in your direction, he lopes back towards the treeline, the troop falling in behind him. They move in a loose, straggling formation, some pausing to glance back at you with wary curiosity before hurrying on to catch up with their leader.*

*As they melt into the dappled shadows of the trees, you are left standing alone once more in the midst of the savanna. But something has undeniably changed. In the course of a single strange, violent, exhilarating afternoon, you have taken your first tentative steps into the perilous and complex social world of Homo habilis. Only time would tell if this was the beginning of something remarkable, or merely the prelude to further struggle and hardship in this unforgiving prehistoric landscape. For now, all you could do was stay alert, stay alive, and hope that the next encounter would bring you closer to finding your place among these strange, primordial cousins of humanity.*


John

*As the sun starts going down I can't do much but trundle back to the aracia tree, using the spear as a walking-stick. Having given away the carcass my stomach rumbles, though without fire i'm not sure how much of it could have been eaten.*
*From what little I did pay attention in botany-class I remember that trees store most of their nutrients in their roots, so with little other option I spend the eveing digging for tubers before climbing up in the tree to sleep....before promptly climbing back down realising there is no way I can sleep in that tree without falling unless I have some rope.*

*Not exactly a seasoned survivalist I simply grab large handfuls of grasses, twisting and bending them a few times to loosen them up slightly before trying to tie them together.*


The Journey Back

*The rough grasses scrape against your skin as you twist and wrench them into some semblance of cordage. It's a crude, painstaking process, the fibrous stalks threatening to split and fray with every turn. By the time you have a few usable lengths, your fingers are raw and cramping, your patience worn thin. But as you lash yourself securely to a sturdy bough, you can't help but feel a small flush of pride. It's a tiny victory, but one hard-won through your own ingenuity and grit.*

*As the last light fades from the sky and the noises of the savanna transition into the eerie chorus of night, exhaustion finally claims you. You slump against the trunk, the rough bark digging into your back, a strange yet solid reminder of your new reality. Sleep comes in fitful snatches, your mind still racing with the events of the day, adrenaline and fear and wonder chasing themselves in dizzying circles. But despite the discomfort and the gnawing emptiness in your belly, you find your thoughts drifting again and again to the habilis troop. What must they make of you, this bizarre hairless creature that walks like them but not with them? Do they see you as a potential ally, or merely an oddity to be tolerated for your occasional offerings? Only time would tell. As your eyes finally drift shut, the hoots and calls of the troop echo in your dreams, enigmatic and haunting.*

*The dawn comes far too soon, the first blush of light spilling across the horizon and painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink. The sounds of the awakening savanna rouse you from your restless slumber - the raucous cries of strange birds, the distant trumpets of ancient proboscideans, the soft rustlings of unseen creatures in the grass. Groggily, you untie yourself and clamber down from your makeshift bed, wincing as your stiff muscles scream in protest. Your mouth is dry and gummy, your head pounding with dehydration. The events of yesterday already have the surreal quality of a fever dream, but the lingering ache in your body and the crude spear lying in the grass at your feet are irrefutable proof of their reality.*

*As the sun's last rays paint the sky in hues of ochre and crimson, you settle down at the base of the acacia tree, your makeshift nest of grass providing scant cushioning against the rough bark and hard-packed earth. The crude rope you've fashioned from twisted grass blades proves barely adequate to lash together a few branches, forming a rudimentary lean-to that offers minimal shelter from the elements. It's a far cry from the cozy beds and sturdy roofs of your own time, but it will have to suffice. Exhausted from the day's trials, you curl up beneath your rickety construction, trying to ignore the persistent gnawing in your belly and the myriad aches and scrapes that throb with each movement.*

*Sleep is slow to come in this alien world, where every rustle of grass or distant animal call sets your nerves jangling with primordial alarm. The night sky wheeling overhead is achingly familiar in its constellations, and yet subtly different, the stars not quite where your time-displaced mind insists they should be. It's a jarring reminder of the vast temporal gulf separating you from all you once knew. Memories of home flit through your head - the comforting embrace of clean sheets, the soothing murmur of electric appliances, the simple joy of a full stomach and a safe place to rest. They feel like scenes from a half-forgotten dream, hazy and unreal against the stark immediacy of your current predicament.*

*Eventually, fatigue wins out over the chirping of crickets and the incessant itching of your grass bedding. You drift into a fitful doze, your subconscious mind populating your dreams with a bizarre mashup of the day's events. Visions of snarling wild dogs and curious habilis dance behind your eyelids, their forms melding and shifting in surreal kaleidoscopes. You dream of the alpha male, his dark, inscrutable gaze boring into your own as he reaches out to touch you, his rough fingers morphing into sleek, dark feathers. The landscape around you ripples and changes, acacia trees contorting into strange, spiraling shapes that reach towards a sickly green sky. Through it all, a sense of urgency tugs at you, a feeling that you are meant to be doing something, searching for something, some key to surviving and thriving in this harsh and unforgiving world. But the knowledge dances maddeningly out of reach, dissolving like mist every time you grasp for it. Morning finds you bleary-eyed and unrefreshed, the details of your dreams already fading as the first golden rays of sunlight spill across the savanna, heralding another day of struggle in this primal, untamed land.*


John

*Slinging the rope across my chest and grabbing my spear I start to make my way back to the river, thankfully finding the stick I had planted yesterday near the limestone. After drinking until I nearly burst my eyes shift onto a large tree nearby, or rather whats ontop of it, a birds nest...*

*Climbing as far as I can I use my spear to slowly but surely tip the nest over, watching as it falls down onto the ground below.*


The Journey Back

*The nest tumbles to the ground with a soft thud, a messy jumble of twigs, dried grass, and downy feathers. Amidst the debris, a few oblong shapes catch your eye - eggs, their pale, mottled shells miraculously unbroken despite the fall. A surge of triumph courses through you. Food, precious sustenance, there for the taking.*

*You quickly clamber down from the tree, eager to claim your prize before some other opportunistic predator beats you to it. The eggs are still warm to the touch, their contents sloshing gently as you gather them up. You pause for a moment, considering. Raw eggs are all well and good, but the thought of a hot meal is suddenly incredibly enticing. If only you had fire... But no, that's a mystery for another time.*

*Cracking open an egg, you slurp down the contents, barely suppressing a grimace at the slimy, slightly sulfurous texture. It's a far cry from the carefully coddled breakfasts of your former life, but beggars can't be choosers. You make short work of the rest, licking the last traces of yolk from your fingers. It's not much, but it's enough to take the edge off your hunger, to fuel you for the challenges of the day ahead.*

*Soon you've eaten all of the eggs in the nest, licking your lips for any traces that might remain. Its a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.*


John

*As I start to head back I catch sight of another herd of Gazella harmonae, grazing in the early morning sun. Slowly holding the spear to my side I try to sneak closer, getting within 20 meters of them.*
*Humans are the single best species when it comes to throwing stuff, bar none, but even still, I wasn't exactly used to...well ANY of this.*


The Journey Back

*Holding your breath, your muscles tense in anticipation, your fingers flexing on the haft of your spear. The gazelles graze obliviously, their slender necks dipping rhythmically to crop at the dry grass. You've seen this dance play out a thousand times in nature documentaries, but it's another thing entirely to be the one poised to make the kill. Your heart pounds in your ears, every sense heightened, the world narrowing to this singular point of focus.*

*Suddenly, one of the gazelles lifts its head, ears swiveling, nostrils flaring as it scents the breeze. It stamps a delicate hoof, letting out a sharp snort of alarm. The herd shifts nervously, poised on the brink of flight. You know it's now or never. Surging to your feet, you draw back your arm and let your spear fly with all the strength you can muster. The crude weapon arcs through the air, seeming to hang suspended for an eternity... before thudding into the flank of a young doe, just behind her shoulder. She lets out a bleating cry of pain and shock, staggering sideways as crimson blooms across her tawny hide. The rest of the herd scatters like chaff in the wind, bounding away across the savanna in a flash of dun and white.*

*The wounded doe lurches after them, desperately trying to keep up despite the spear jutting obscenely from her side. You sprint after her, feet pounding against the hard-packed earth, lungs searing with the effort. The thrill of the hunt sings in your veins, spurring you on. This is what it means to be alive, to fight for your survival in the most primal way possible. You have struck a blow, but the real struggle is just beginning. The gazelle is flagging, her movements growing erratic, leaving a sporadic trail of blood droplets in her wake. You follow doggedly, determined to claim your kill, to prove yourself a true predator in this savage land of tooth and claw.*

*The gazelles continue grazing peacefully, blissfully unaware of your presence. You grip your spear tightly, palms slick with sweat, breath shallow with anticipation. A gentle breeze rustles the tall grass around you, carrying with it the warm, grassy scent of the gazelles and the pungent musk of your own nervous excitement. The stage is set for an ancient drama as old as predator and prey.*

*You creep forward slowly, placing each foot with exacting care, trying desperately to remember everything you've ever seen on the nature documentaries of your former life. They made it look so easy - a swift, clean kill, a triumphant hunter posing over their quarry. But out here, without the filter of a television screen, the reality is far messier, far more immediate. Your heart pounds in your ears, your focus narrowing to a single gazelle on the periphery of the herd. Just a little closer...*

*Suddenly, a twig snaps beneath your foot, the sound as loud as a gunshot in the still morning air. The gazelle's head jerks up, dark eyes wide and rolling. It stamps its hoof, letting out a sharp snort of alarm. In an instant, the rest of the herd is on alert, a ripple of agitation passing through their ranks. You freeze, hardly daring to breathe, willing them to settle. But it's too late. With a collective bellow of fear, the gazelles bolt, a tawny tide of fleeing bodies and pounding hooves.*

*Desperation and frustration surge through you. With a yell, you burst from your hiding place, sprinting after the retreating herd. The gazelles scatter before you, their white tails flashing like mocking beacons as they easily outpace your clumsy, two-legged strides. Your spear feels heavy and useless in your hand, your inexperience painfully evident. Lungs burning, legs leaden, you finally stumble to a halt, watching helplessly as your would-be prey disappears into the shimmering heat haze. It's a bitter pill to swallow, this failure, a stark reminder of just how out of your depth you truly are in this primeval world.*


John

*While i'm certainly not a marathon runner, human anatomy itself is built for long-distance running. Even as the doe initally keeps its distance its not long before it slows down, and eventually collapses, and by that point there is little left to do but to finish it off and drag it home.*

*Back at camp I consider my options, I certainly can't eat the entire thing and so I should give some to the Habilis, but those eggs weren't exactly filling. Granted without fire I can't really eat the flesh of this thing safely either...*
*With a nod I grab a large rock, getting to work on breaking open the skull. The least likely place for a parasite to be in would be the brain, even if its extremely gross.*


The Journey Back

*Cracking open the gazelle's skull with a rock is a grisly, laborious process. The bone is surprisingly thick and sturdy, resisting your initial blows. You have to put your back into it, bringing the stone down again and again, grunting with the effort. Slowly, inexorably, fractures spiderweb across the surface, marrow and blood oozing from the growing fissures. The raw, coppery scent fills your nostrils, making your stomach simultaneously churn with revulsion and growl with hunger. Finally, with a sickening crunch, the skull splits open, revealing the glistening, greyish-pink mass of the brain within.*

*You hesitate for a moment, staring down at the quivering organ. In your old life, the thought of consuming raw brains would have been unthinkable, a taboo of the highest order. But here, now, it represents precious nourishment, a means of sustaining yourself in this unforgiving world. Steeling your nerve, you reach in and scoop out a handful of the soft, gelatinous tissue. It's slippery and slightly warm in your palm, with a faint metallic tang that makes your gorge rise. Closing your eyes, you bring it to your lips and take a tentative bite. The texture is somehow both spongy and slimy, coating your tongue and teeth. You have to fight the urge to gag as you choke it down, feeling it slither down your throat. But as the first mouthful settles in your belly, you find yourself already reaching for another. Survival has a way of overriding squeamishness.*

*With a grimace of distaste, you set about your grisly task, the heavy rock thudding against the gazelle's skull with sickening crunches. It takes several blows to fully crack the braincase, each impact jarring up your arms and spattering your skin with flecks of blood and pulverized bone. Finally, the skull splits open like a macabre flower, revealing the glistening grey matter within. Steeling yourself, you scoop out a handful of the organ, trying not to gag at the metallic scent and gelatinous texture. You know that this is one of the richest sources of fat and nutrients available - a precious commodity in this lean, unforgiving world. Closing your eyes, you bring the quivering mass to your lips and force yourself to choke it down, suppressing a shudder at the way it coats your tongue and throat.*

*The rest of the carcass will not keep for long in the sweltering heat, already drawing the attention of buzzing flies and prowling scavengers. You know you must move quickly to secure what you can. Using your crude stone flake, you begin the arduous process of butchering the animal, separating hide from muscle, sinew from bone. It's messy, exhausting work, your hands quickly becoming stained and sticky, but slowly a pile of usable meat begins to accumulate at your side. Anything you cannot immediately consume, you will have to find a way to preserve - perhaps drying it in the sun, or burying it in the cooler soil. These are skills you will need to master if you are to thrive here.*

*As you work, your thoughts drift again to the habilis troop. Sharing this bounty with them could further cement your burgeoning relationship, prove your worth as an ally and provider. But it is a delicate balance - give too much, and they may come to depend on you, neglecting their own foraging and scavenging. Give too little, and they may see you as a stingy opportunist, not worthy of their trust or cooperation. You will have to navigate these social complexities with great care, learning the intricate dance of reciprocity and obligation that binds all social primates. For now, you focus on your task, preparing the fruits of your hunt for the next step in your journey of survival and integration in this primordial world.*


John

*With a grunt I lift the carcass up over my shoulders in a firemans carry, ironic since saving this things live is the farthest thing from what i'm doing.*
*Heading back to the Habilis camp I signal my arrival with the same whistle, this time stepping further into the area and dumping the animal infront of me.*


The Journey Back

*The habilis troop's reaction to your arrival is markedly different from the initial fearful hostility. While they still keep their distance, there is a palpable air of anticipation as they watch you haul the gazelle carcass into their midst. The alpha male swaggers forward, his chest puffed out, his stride confident. He circles the fallen doe, nostrils flaring as he takes in the scent of fresh blood. With a grunt of satisfaction, he seizes one of the limp hind legs and begins to drag the carcass towards the center of the group, ignoring your presence entirely. It seems your offering has been accepted, your presence now tolerated, if not yet welcomed.*

*The rest of the troop descends on the gazelle in a flurry of activity, hooting and screeching with excitement. Razor-sharp stone flakes, crudely knapped but effective, appear in nimble hands, slicing into the hide and flesh. In a matter of minutes, the carcass is reduced to a skeleton, picked clean by the habilis' ruthlessly efficient butchery. The alpha claims the liver, his prerogative as leader, while the other adult males squabble over the choicest cuts. Females and juveniles dart in to snatch scraps, wary of provoking their ire. It is a chaotic, bloody scene, but one that speaks to an intricate social order, a complex web of hierarchies and relationships that you are only beginning to glimpse.*

*As the initial frenzy subsides and the troop settles down to enjoy their feast, you find a spot a little ways away to sit and observe. The habilis seem more at ease with your presence now, some even casting curious glances your way as they gnaw on bones and tendons. A few of the bolder juveniles creep closer, their eyes bright with mischief. They dart forward, snatching up small scraps of meat and scampering away before you can react, watching to see what you'll do. It's a playful sort of interaction, a tentative overture of friendship.*

*The reaction from the habilis troop is even more pronounced this time. They come rushing out to meet you, hooting and chittering excitedly at the sight of the gazelle carcass. The alpha male is at the forefront, his eyes wide and eager. He barks out a series of sharp commands, and several of the females dart forward to take the gazelle from you, their wiry arms straining under the weight. They drag it back to the center of the clearing, where the rest of the troop falls upon it in a frenzy of tearing hands and snapping jaws.*

*But even as they revel in this unexpected bounty, their attention keeps flicking back to you. The younger males in particular seem fascinated by your presence, edging closer with each passing moment. One, a gangly adolescent with a patchwork of scars across his shoulders, even goes so far as to reach out and tug at your arm, marveling at the lack of fur. The alpha male quickly puts a stop to that with a warning grunt, but it's clear that your stock has risen considerably in their eyes. This strange, hairless creature that keeps appearing with food is rapidly becoming a figure of interest, perhaps even a tentative ally.*

*As the initial furor of feeding dies down, you notice that the habilis are already working to preserve what meat they can't immediately consume. The females slice thin strips from the gazelle's flanks with sharp slivers of stone, laying them out on sun-warmed rocks to dry. It's a rudimentary form of jerky-making, but one that could make all the difference in the lean times ahead. The alpha male oversees the process, occasionally snatching a choice morsel for himself. His gaze keeps darting to you, a mix of calculation and something almost like approval in his dark eyes.*

*The rest of the day passes in a haze of activity, the habilis troop going about their daily rituals with renewed energy. You find yourself drawn into their midst, observing their interactions with a mix of fascination and trepidation. The young males continue to test the boundaries of your presence, engaging in bouts of rough play-fighting that sometimes spill over into your personal space. The females are more aloof, but you catch them watching you with bright, curious eyes when they think you're not looking. It's a strange, tenuous kind of acceptance, but one that fills you with a cautious hope. Perhaps, given time, you could truly find a place among these ancient cousins of humanity.*


John

*While I should be content at merely being tolerated for now, part of how the alpha simply grabbed the carcass from me stirrs up some primal emotions. Looking over the carcass is now mostly bones...giving me an idea.*
*Standing up I pace for a bit until what I find what i'm looking for, a large rock. Lifting it up like an atlas-stone I walk over to the skeleton, and with a burst of strength slam it down on one of its hindlegs, breaking it open. Kneeling down I start to suck and scrape with my teeth to get at the bone marrow.*


The Journey Back

*Your brash display of strength and claim on the marrow draws a mixture of reactions from the habilis troop. Some of the juveniles who were tentatively approaching skitter back, eyes wide and wary at this sudden outburst from the strange newcomer. A few of the adult females let out anxious hoots, glancing nervously between you and the alpha male. For his part, the alpha rises to his feet, bristling visibly at your perceived challenge to his authority. He barks out a sharp, guttural warning call, punctuated by slapping the ground aggressively with his palms. It's a clear message - this is HIS kill, HIS troop, and you are merely tolerated, not accepted.*

*But you are too far into this course to back down now. The sweet, rich taste of the marrow on your tongue is a primal affirmation of your own status, your own worth. You meet the alpha's gaze unflinchingly, even as you continue to scoop out the cracked bone's savory contents. For a long, tense moment, you are locked in a silent battle of wills, the very air seeming to crackle with the force of your opposing resolves. Then, abruptly, the alpha averts his eyes, his posture shifting subtly. It's not quite submission, but a grudging acknowledgement of your tenacity. With a huff, he turns and lopes back to the remains of the carcass, pointedly tearing off a strip of sinew to gnaw on. The rest of the troop, taking their cue from their leader, gradually resumes their own feasting, though they maintain a cautious distance from you. It's a small victory, but a significant one. In this dangerous and primal world, even the slightest shift in the social fabric could mean the difference between life and death.*

*Your brazen display draws immediate attention from the habilis troop. The alpha male's head snaps up, his eyes narrowing as he watches you crack open the leg bone and begin to suck out the rich marrow. For a tense moment, he seems poised to challenge this affront to his authority, his body coiling like a spring. But something holds him back - perhaps a glimmer of recognition that you are not just another subordinate to be bullied, but a strange new entity with unknown capabilities. He settles for a warning grunt, a low rumble deep in his chest that sends the juveniles scurrying for cover behind their mothers' legs.*

*The rest of the troop regards you with a mix of wariness and fascination as you feast on your hard-won prize. The concept of breaking bones for marrow is not unknown to them - they have seen the alpha and other high-ranking males do the same on occasion. But to see it done by an outsider, and with such casual audacity, is unprecedented. In this simple act, you have begun to establish yourself as a force to be reckoned with, an autonomous agent rather than a mere supplicant. It is a small step, but a crucial one in navigating the intricate dance of dominance and submission that governs life in the troop.*

*As you finish your meal and rise to your feet, the troop begins to disperse, some drifting off to groom or rest while others resume foraging for roots and insects. The alpha casts a final, appraising glance in your direction before stalking off towards the treeline, his posture still wary but lacking the overt aggression of before. You are left to ponder your next move, the next step in this delicate process of integration. The day's hunt has bought you a measure of acceptance, but you know it is a fragile détente. You will need to continue to prove your worth, to carve out a niche within the troop's hierarchy, if you hope to survive and thrive in this savage, primordial world.*


John

*After cracking a few more bones open I stand back, dropping the stone at the skeleton and stepping back, not quite joining the main group, but sitting near to the side, far closer than I was yesterday.*
*I can't help but chuckle as I watch some males come up to the stone, trying to lift it, but the combination of their height making it comparatively bigger than them as well as the fact it probably weighs as much as they do, while its only 1/3 of my weight means its absolutely hopeless.*


The Journey Back

*The habilis males grunt and strain comically as they paw at the rock, their efforts growing increasingly frantic. It would be amusing if not for the undercurrent of tension still lingering in the wake of your confrontation with the alpha. A few of the older females watch the proceedings with an air of exasperation, as if this display of male posturing is all too familiar. One of them, a wizened matriarch with a grizzled muzzle and a notched ear, catches your eye. She holds your gaze for a long moment, her expression inscrutable, before pointedly turning her back on the whole scene and ambling away to a nearby termite mound to pick at the clay. It's a subtle snub, but a poignant one - a reminder that for all your strength and audacity, you are still an outsider here.*

*As the last scraps of meat are stripped from the gazelle's bones and the initial excitement of the feast fades, the troop begins to settle into a lazy afternoon torpor. Juveniles play desultorily in the dappled shade, their antics halfhearted in the growing heat. Adult females lounge in companionable clusters, grooming each other with deft fingers, plucking fleas and ticks from fur and skin. The alpha male, his belly distended from gorging on the choice cuts, sprawls across his termite mound throne, eyes half-lidded but ever-watchful. It's a moment of relative peace and tranquility, a brief respite from the constant struggle for survival.*

*The juveniles' clumsy attempts to heft the stone elicit grunts of amusement from some of the adult males. One of them, a burly individual with a jagged scar across his brow, swaggers over and cuffs the youngsters aside. Squatting down, he grasps the rock in both hands, muscles bunching as he strains to lift it. For a moment it seems he might succeed, the stone rising a few centimeters off the ground. But then his grip slips and it thuds back down, narrowly missing his toes. He leaps back with an indignant yelp, shooting a baleful glare in your direction as if blaming you for his failure. The juveniles, meanwhile, hoot with gleeful schadenfreude at his embarrassment.*

*Across the way, the alpha male watches this display with hooded eyes, absently cracking a bone between his powerful jaws. Though he feigns indifference, you catch him casting assessing glances your way when he thinks you're not looking. You may have impressed him with your strength and boldness, but he is far from ready to accept you as an equal. In his eyes, you are still an interloper, a potential threat to his dominance. As the females begin to groom each other contentedly and the sated troop drifts towards a midday doze, you can't help but wonder what it will take to truly earn a place among them. Brute force alone is clearly not enough. You will need to find other ways to prove your worth, to navigate the complex social currents of habilis life. It is a daunting prospect, but also an exhilarating one - the chance to unravel the mysteries of a lost way of being, to forge a bond that transcends the eons. The path ahead is fraught with peril and uncertainty... but also ripe with possibility.*


John

*With a belly somewhat filled on eggs, brain and marrow I try to relax a little bit in the small spot of shade, knowing that having to habilis get used to my presence is equally as important as the initial contact. However as boredom starts to set in, uniquely "homo-sapien" artistic feelings starts to bubble up inside of me watching the untamed landscape, and knowing that this is TRULY untamed, not just a patch of national park sectioned of by humans, the whole world is like this.*

*Almost unconciously my lips start to whistle the tune to "Baba Yetu". Maybe a bit generic given the circumstance, but i'm sure the others won't complain about how generic a song from 2 million years in the future is.*


The Journey Back

*As the unfamiliar notes of your whistling drift through the drowsy afternoon air, the reaction from the habilis troop is one of puzzlement and intrigue. Heads perk up, brows furrow, and eyes narrow as they try to make sense of the strange, melodic sounds emanating from your pursed lips. It's like nothing they've ever heard before - a far cry from their own hoots, grunts, and screeches. Some of the juveniles creep closer, their natural curiosity overriding their caution. They cock their heads this way and that, as if trying to triangulate the source of the peculiar noise. One particularly bold youngster, a female with bright, inquisitive eyes, ventures right up to you, plopping down on her haunches just out of arm's reach. She mimics your posture, puckering her own lips in a clumsy attempt to recreate the whistling. The result is a series of wheezy, sputtering raspberries that send her playmates into fits of shrieking laughter.*

*The alpha male, roused from his post-prandial doze by the commotion, heaves himself upright with a grunt. He lumbers over to investigate, his heavy brow furrowed in consternation. For a moment, he looms over you, his bulk blocking out the sun, his musky scent filling your nostrils. Then, abruptly, he drops to all fours, bringing his face level with yours. His dark eyes bore into your own, searching, probing. Slowly, deliberately, he parts his lips and blows out a long, soft breath, as if trying to feel the shape of your whistling in his own mouth. It's a strangely intimate gesture, a moment of connection that transcends the vast gulf of time and evolution between you.*

*You continue your serenade, lost in your own waking dream of towering cities and soaring symphonies, of a world so far removed from this one as to be almost unimaginable. The habilis, of course, cannot comprehend the depths of your nostalgia, the bittersweet ache of your longing for a home that doesn't yet exist.*

The Journey Back, take 5, aaaand action!

*The haunting notes of your whistled song drift across the drowsy afternoon air, an alien melody in this primordial world. At first, the habilis troop pays you little mind, too sated and lethargic from their feast to muster much curiosity. But gradually, a few heads begin to turn your way, dark eyes blinking slowly in the shimmering heat. The juveniles are the first to take notice, their playful tussling petering out as they cock their heads quizzically at the strange sounds emanating from your pursed lips. They creep closer, emboldened by your relaxed posture, until they are practically at your feet, watching you with rapt fascination.*

*The alpha male, rousing from his post-prandial doze, sits up with a snort. He stares at you intently, his heavy brow furrowed, as if trying to puzzle out the meaning behind your peculiar vocalizations. Is it a call to some unseen ally? A warning? A challenge? But there is no aggression in your demeanor, no hint of threat. Just a strange, lilting cadence that seems to hang in the air like a shimmering mirage. Hesitantly, almost reluctantly, he begins to approach, his steps slow and measured. The rest of the troop, taking their cue from their leader, start to gather around as well, forming a loose semi-circle of hairy bodies and curious faces.*

*You continue your serenade, lost in your own waking dream of towering cities and soaring symphonies, of a world so far removed from this one as to be almost unimaginable. The habilis, of course, cannot comprehend the depths of your nostalgia, the bittersweet ache of your longing for a home that doesn't yet exist. But there is something in the music that speaks to them on a primal level - a sense of harmony and rhythm that transcends the boundaries of species and time. One by one, they begin to sway in place, their movements tentative at first, then growing bolder as they find the beat. The juveniles are the most enthusiastic, bouncing and capering with gleeful abandon. Even the alpha male nods his head in time, a look of bemused wonder on his craggy face.*

*For a moment, the hardships and dangers of this savage land fade away, subsumed by the simple joy of shared experience. You are no longer a stranger among strange creatures, but a fellow traveler on the long, winding road of evolution. The music rises and falls, weaving a spell of connection and kinship that bridges the vast gulf between your worlds. And as the last notes of your song fade away into the shimmering heat, you realize that you have taken another small but significant step towards finding your place in this ancient, untamed world - a world that is slowly, inexorably, becoming your own.*


John

*As the sun starts to near the edge of the horizon I stand back up, stretching a bit before starting to collect large sticks from the nearby area, wanting to atleast have SOME type of primitive shelter for the night, even if none of the other habilis seem to bother with it.*


The Journey Back

*The habilis watch with mild interest as you gather an armful of sticks and branches, piling them haphazardly at the base of a nearby tree. Some of the younger ones scamper over to investigate, poking and prodding at the unfamiliar construction. The alpha male, however, seems largely indifferent to your architectural endeavors. He's far more focused on grooming a particularly stubborn tick lodged behind his ear, his deft fingers working to tweeze out the bloated parasite.*

*As the shadows lengthen and the air takes on a distinct evening chill, the troop begins to settle in for the night. Mothers corral wayward infants, guiding them to the safety of the higher branches. Juveniles squabble briefly over prime sleeping spots before being cuffed into submission by the adults. Gradually, the chatter and commotion subsides into a sleepy murmur, punctuated by the occasional snore or snuffle. The alpha is the last to retire, making a final round of the periphery, marking his territory with strategic scent posts. He pauses briefly by your makeshift shelter, nostrils flaring as he takes in the unfamiliar construction. For a moment, it seems he might knock it over in a display of dominance. But perhaps he's too tired, or simply doesn't perceive it as a threat. With a final snort, he swings himself up into the welcoming branches of his chosen tree, leaving you to your own devices.*

*The night is alive with a symphony of unfamiliar sounds - the eerie whoops of hyenas, the distant trumpets of elephants, the mournful cries of strange nocturnal birds. Without the comforting barrier of walls and windows, you feel incredibly exposed, vulnerable to the myriad unseen dangers prowling in the darkness. The fire-hardened point of your spear is a meager reassurance against the teeth and claws and tusks of this primordial world. As exhaustion finally drags you down into a fitful slumber, you can only hope that the new day will bring fresh opportunities and challenges in your quest to find your place among the creatures of the Pleistocene.*

*Your sudden burst of industriousness draws curious stares from the habilis troop. They watch with a mixture of puzzlement and fascination as you move about, gathering sticks and branches, piling them in a rough lean-to against the trunk of a sturdy tree. It's a concept utterly foreign to them, this notion of deliberately constructing a shelter. Their own nightly nests are little more than crude platforms of bent branches and heaped leaves, built anew each evening and abandoned come morning. The idea of a more permanent structure, a fixed point of safety and refuge, is beyond their current understanding.*

*The alpha male approaches as you work, sniffing warily at the growing pile of foliage. He picks up a stick, turning it over in his leathery hands, peering at it intently as if trying to divine its purpose. With a snort, he tosses it aside and reaches for another, larger branch. For a moment, you tense, thinking he might be about to dismantle your efforts. But to your surprise, he drags the branch over to your construction, leaning it haphazardly against the existing framework. It's a clumsy attempt, but an attempt nonetheless - a first, tentative step towards participating in your strange endeavor.*

*Emboldened by their leader's example, a few of the other habilis begin to contribute their own offerings. A juvenile male proudly deposits an armful of twigs, scattering them in a vague approximation of your neat piles. An older female, her fingers gnarled with age, laboriously drags over a large palm frond, laying it across the roof of your shelter with an air of solemn ceremony. It's a touching display of solidarity, a sign that your presence is slowly but surely being woven into the fabric of their social world.*

*As the sun dips below the horizon and the shadows lengthen, you step back to admire your handiwork. It's a far cry from the sturdy, weather-tight shelters of later human history, but it's a significant improvement over the exposed branch you slept on last night. The habilis, their initial curiosity sated, begin to drift back to their own sleeping spots, settling in for the night with soft grunts and contented sighs. You crawl into your own makeshift sanctuary, the earthy scent of crushed vegetation filling your nostrils. As you stretch out on the bed of leaves, feeling the aches and strains of the day's labors settling into your muscles, a deep sense of satisfaction washes over you. It's a small victory, but a meaningful one - a tangible symbol of your growing place in this strange and primal world.*


John

(3 weeks later)
*Grunting I let the carcass of a small antelope fall down on the ground in the camp, having tried making an exceedingly simple pitfall which had paid off. As I did I reflected on the past weeks, and where I now was. At heart I was certainly still a scared little human lost in this world, each day bringing something I hadn't yet learned about, but compared to before things were atleast managable. While certainly different, I was seemingly part of the tribe now.*

*Though a nagging headache and presistant feelings of fatigue did make me suspect I was having an iron-deficiency. Squatting down over the kill I used one of the stone cleavers to cut open the animal, grabbing the liver and digging in to it, a choice piece usually claimed by the alpha...*


The Journey Back

*The alpha male's head snaps up at the sound of tearing flesh, his nostrils flaring as he catches the scent of fresh offal. He lopes over, teeth bared in a warning grimace as he sees you crouched possessively over the choice cut of liver. A low growl rumbles in his chest - a clear sign of displeasure at your perceived insubordination. The rest of the troop, sensing the mounting tension, falls silent, watching the impending confrontation with a mixture of apprehension and avid fascination. This is a pivotal moment, a test of the delicate balance of power that has emerged over the past weeks. In the ruthless calculus of hominid society, you have overstepped, claimed more than your allotted share.*

*For a long, fraught moment, you remain locked in a silent battle of wills, your hand still clutching the glistening liver, the alpha's gaze boring into you with laser intensity. Then, almost imperceptibly, your grip tightens, your jaw clenches. Some deep, primal part of you rebels against the idea of capitulation, even in the face of such blatant intimidation. Slowly, deliberately, you bring the dripping morsel to your mouth, your eyes never leaving the alpha's. The first bite is a declaration of defiance, a gauntlet thrown down in the ancient arena of evolutionary one-upmanship. The metallic tang of blood floods your tongue, mingling with the rich, gamey flavor of the liver. It's a heady, intoxicating sensation, a rush of pure, animal vitality.*

*Around you, the rest of the troop has fallen silent, watching the unfolding drama with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation. The females hug their infants close, ready to bolt at the first sign of serious conflict. The juveniles peer out from behind their mothers' backs, eyes wide and eager for any hint of excitement to break the monotony of the day. Even the beta males, usually so quick to challenge and posture, keep a cautious distance, unwilling to risk drawing the alpha's ire. The tension is thick enough to cut with one of the crude stone tools scattered about the camp.*

*The alpha male, previously lounging in the shade of a nearby acacia, rises to his feet and ambles towards you, eyes fixed on the liver clutched in your hands. There's an intensity to his gaze, a challenge simmering just beneath the surface. In the weeks since your arrival, you've managed to carve out a tentative niche within the troop's social hierarchy, but it's a delicate balance, one that could be upended at any moment. The alpha's authority is absolute, his dominance hard-won and fiercely guarded. Your brazen claim on the choicest cut of the kill is a direct affront to that authority, a gauntlet thrown down in the dust.*

*Around you, the rest of the troop has fallen silent, watching the unfolding drama with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation. The females hug their infants close, ready to bolt at the first sign of serious conflict. The juveniles peer out from behind their mothers' backs, eyes wide and eager for any hint of excitement to break the monotony of the day. Even the beta males, usually so quick to challenge and posture, keep a cautious distance, unwilling to risk drawing the alpha's ire. The tension is thick enough to cut with one of the crude stone tools scattered about the camp.*

*The alpha halts a mere arm's length away, his musky scent filling your nostrils, his hot breath puffing against your face. Up close, you can see the latticework of scars crisscrossing his hide, the notches and tears in his ears, the flecks of gray in his coarse pelt - all testament to a lifetime of battles fought and won. He raises one massive hand, fingers flexing, and for a heart-stopping moment you think he might simply swat the liver from your grasp. But instead, he brings his knuckles down hard on the ground beside you, the impact sending a small geyser of dust into the air. It's a warning, a reminder of his strength and status.*

*Slowly, deliberately, never breaking eye contact, you bring the liver to your mouth and take a large, defiant bite. The rich, coppery tang of blood floods your senses, the soft, slippery texture of the organ sliding down your throat. It's a primal act of assertion, a claiming of your place within the group. The alpha's nostrils flare, his lips peeling back from yellowed canines. For a long, breathless moment, he looms over you, the very picture of coiled aggression. Then, abruptly, he turns and stalks away, snatching up a discarded scrap of hide to worry between his teeth. It's a tacit admission of your right to the spoils, a grudging acknowledgement of your contribution to the hunt. A ripple of relaxation passes through the troop, the threat of imminent violence dissipating like mist beneath the rising sun. The day's drama has passed, but you know it's only a temporary reprieve. In this harsh and unforgiving world, dominance is a constant battle, and you'll need all your wits and strength to maintain your hard-won place.*


John

*Standing up to my full height I tower over him, the right part of my lip curling into a snarl.*
Never did like you, asshole...*While the words are certainly lost the meaning isn't as the alpha seems to respond to the provocation.*

*Without even really realising it I feel my body starting to move, but unlike anything animalistic the movement is fully human, bipedal grace at its finest.*
*My right leg starts to twist, the motion being carried through my body and out to my left leg in a picture perfect roundhouse. Part of me almost feels back, the alpha isn't more than 130cm, the size of a 12 year old child...and as the roundhouse connects with the side of his head he's cold before hitting the ground.*


The Journey Back

*The sickening crunch of bone reverberates through the clearing. The alpha's body crumples to the ground, limbs flailing spasmodically as his brain struggles to process the sudden trauma. His eyes, wide and glassy, stare up at you in mute incomprehension. A thin trickle of blood oozes from his ear, starkly crimson against the dull brown of his fur. For a moment, the entire tableau is frozen in a ghastly tableau - the troop, yourself, even the buzzing of the flies over the forgotten carcass seems muted, as if the world itself is holding its breath.*

*Slowly, the alpha twitches, a weak, shuddering gasp escaping his lips. It's a pitiful sound, a far cry from the booming roars and bellows that once sent the troop scrambling in deference. He tries to raise his head, his eyes struggling to focus. A keening whine builds in his throat, an instinctive cry for help from the females who once fawned over him. But they remain motionless, huddled together in a wide-eyed knot, their infants clutched tightly to their chests. To them, he is already a ghost, a walking dead thing whose fate is sealed.*

*One of the beta males, a burly adolescent on the cusp of adulthood, creeps forward. His posture is cautious, almost deferential, but there is a glint of something hungry and calculating in his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he extends a hand, prodding at the fallen alpha's flank. The wounded hominid can only twitch feebly in response, his once-powerful limbs now as limp and unresponsive as the antelope carcass beside him. Emboldened, the beta male hoots softly, an exploratory sound, probing for any signs of resistance.*

*When none is forthcoming, he rears up, pounding his chest in a display of bravado. He swaggers over to the females, puffing himself up, trying to project an air of newfound authority. But they cringe away from his advances, huddling together all the more tightly.*


John

*The adolescent doesn't have to turn around as he feels a chill creeping up his spine, having to crane his neck to look up at my snarling face when he finally turns.*
*What follows is a hour-long brawl as the 8 or so beta males that had been kept in check by the alpha all try to claim the position at once, the obvious target being the one two struck them down.*

*...In truth a brawl is a bit unfair. While I need to take care not to kill any more for obvious reasons, these habilis are even smaller than the alpha, only around 120 cm and most likely not weighing over 30 kilograms. With a body 3 times the size, a height-advantage of over half a meter and modern matrial arts its less of a brawl and more of one of those hypothetical "How many preteens could you beat in a fight" scenarios.*


The Journey Back

*The next hour is a whirlwind of flying fur, gnashing teeth, and flailing limbs. The beta males come at you in twos and threes, leaping and lunging with wild abandon. But for all their fervor, they are hopelessly outmatched. Your height and reach give you an insurmountable advantage, allowing you to swat and bat them away like so many pesky mosquitoes. One particularly audacious challenger manages to latch onto your arm, his sharp little teeth sinking into the flesh. But a swift, sharp crack of your elbow to his skull sends him reeling, eyes crossed and legs wobbly.*

*Another tries to tackle you from behind, wrapping his sinewy arms around your waist in a futile attempt to bring you down. You simply reach back, seize him by the scruff, and fling him bodily into the midst of his cohorts, bowling them over like furry ninepins. They tumble and tangle in a screeching heap, biting and clawing at each other in their frustration.*

*Occasionally, you find yourself having to suppress a chuckle at the sheer absurdity of the situation - a grown man, a modern Homo sapiens, beset by a pack of pint-sized hominids. It's like something out of a slapstick comedy routine, a Pleistocene Three Stooges act. But then a lucky blow will connect, a jagged stone gashed across your shin or sharp nails raked down your back, and the severity of the situation comes rushing back.*

*Through it all, the females and infants watch from the sidelines, their eyes wide and wary. They flinch at every howl of pain, every sickening thud of flesh on flesh. To them, this is no laughing matter. It is a deadly serious contest, a primal struggle for dominance that will determine the fate of the troop. And as the betas' attacks begin to falter, their movements growing sluggish and clumsy with exhaustion, it becomes increasingly clear just who the victor will be.*

*The young beta male's eyes bulge comically as he cranes his neck to meet your wrathful glare. For a moment he looks as if he might soil himself, quivering like a sapling in a hurricane. But before he can slink away, a howling mass of hormonal aggression descends upon you - the other hopeful contenders for the alpha throne, all pimply and squeaky-voiced and thrumming with misplaced machismo.* *They come at you in a chaotic scrum, hooting and screeching, beating their chests in a display that might be intimidating if they weren't the size of fourth graders. The first to reach you takes a wild swing, aiming for your jaw but succeeding only in flailing at empty air. You almost feel bad as your palm meets his face, sending him pinwheeling backwards into a thorn bush with an undignified squawk. Another leaps onto your back, skinny arms scrabbling for a chokehold, but you simply reach back and pluck him off like a ripe mango, holding him at arm's length as he windmills uselessly. It's like being assailed by a troupe of particularly aggressive spider monkeys.* [250 words. How's that? I tried to balance humor, action, and vivid imagery. Let me know if you'd like me to modify anything!]

The brawl commences in a whirlwind of flailing limbs, gnashing teeth, and flying fur. The betas lunge at you with all the ferocity their diminutive frames can muster - a writhing, screeching mass of primal aggression. But to your modern human physique, honed by a lifetime of nutrition and exercise, their assault is almost laughably ineffectual. You swat them aside like bothersome gnats, your powerful arms sending them sprawling in the dirt.

One particularly tenacious male manages to latch onto your back, his sharp nails scrabbling for purchase on your sweat-slicked skin. With a grunt of annoyance, you reach back, plucking him off like a ripe fruit and holding him at arm's length. He squirms and spits in your grasp, his beady eyes bright with impotent fury. For a moment, you're tempted to simply punt the little bastard across the clearing. But that would hardly be sporting. Instead, you tuck him under one arm like a squirming furball, using your free hand to deftly dodge and parry the increasingly desperate attacks of his cohorts.

It's like a slapstick comedy routine - you, the towering straight man, nonchalantly fending off a horde of pint-sized stooges. The females watch from the sidelines, their expressions flickering between alarm and something almost akin to amusement. Even the traumatized infants cease their wailing for a moment, entranced by the spectacle.

Finally, you've had enough. With a bellowing roar that would do a silverback gorilla proud, you fling your arms wide, sending your assailants tumbling in all directions. They land in unceremonious heaps, dazed and disoriented. Slowly, groggily, they pick themselves up, shaking their heads and eyeing you warily. The fight has gone out of them, replaced by a grudging, fearful respect.