11.000 BC – North America

Shadow-of-the-Wind turned the stone point in his hands; he pressed the piece of bison jawbone firmly against a ridge at the rear end, until it splintered away. And again he searched for those places of the stone that were not part of the symmetry of the point and drew closer to the image in his mind. Again he delighted in the color of the rainbow stone, the orange not so different from the fire before him.

He lowered his hands and relaxed his shoulders. The fire hissed and crackled; the damp wood spoke in an angry voice. He raised his gaze. Night approached; dim light fell between the trees, which had now shed their last leaves. The branches felt gray and cold and sluggish, like his bones. Soon the snow would come.

The call of a Great Vulture echoed from the forest, and then two more. The group was back. He rose slowly from the ground and shook the stiffness from his legs and arms. The others who had been working by the fire also set aside their work and stood. From the huts came the rest of the people. Call-of-the-Crane pressed his hand briefly and smiled at him. Again he saw the face of their parents in hers. Did she resemble them more with age, or did he himself seek them more? She-Who-Was-Born-in-Winter trudged along behind at her mother’s hand and looked up at him with wide eyes. His heart twitched painfully.

Far-Traveler stepped beside him and laid a hand upon his shoulder. Shadow-of-the-Wind turned his head toward him. The flickering of the fire made the wrinkles in his face dance; the late light made his gray hair shine silver. Far-Traveler nodded to him and looked at him with questioning eyes. They did not need to speak the question aloud. Shadow-of-the-Wind shrugged and lowered his gaze.

They did not wait long before the group stepped out of the trees onto the clearing. Wolf-Step carefully laid the slain deer upon the ground and drew Call-of-the-Crane and their shared daughter into his arms. The spear point in his hand cut Shadow-of-the-Wind.

He forced his hand to loosen its grip and stepped toward He-Who-Never-Misses; they laid their hands upon each other’s shoulders. “What have you all seen?” he asked him with a smile. He-Who-Never-Misses smiled back at him. “Much, and more.”

Shadow-of-the-Wind took the thick pouch of gathered herbs from him and turned away from the greetings. He lowered himself into his place and watched the stone in his hand and the drops of blood it had cut from him, glittering in the light of the fire.

His gaze wandered to the small mound of earth behind his hut, where small plants had already claimed the soil. But beneath there were only shells now, and even these would return. He shook his head; what was the point of it? What was the point of anything? He laid the unfinished stone point upon the earth, wiped the blood from his hand on the fur around his shoulders, and helped Wolf-Step dress the deer.

With a satisfied grunt, Shadow-of-the-Wind ran his fingers through the empty bowl, brought the last remnants of the stew to his mouth, and set the bowl down before him upon the earth. He bowed to the deer and the pumpkin, which were now part of themselves.

Soon all were finished and in the glow of the two fires, beneath the light of the endless stars, the group spoke of what they had seen on their Little Journey.

They spoke of how the ice upon the hills of the past years was no more; of the Full Moon, which with a halo upon the plain had shown them the way. They told of buffalo in the distance, of the hunt in the morning mist…

The fire drew his eyes and ears, and Shadow-of-the-Wind heard only the voice sparkling into the darkness, how it crackled and whispered. The fire blazed upward, sank, cast sparks into the night; a log broke in the middle and stirred the flames.

“…they said they saw a First-Mother, among the hills.” Shadow-of-the-Wind raised his head sharply. For a moment the silence of the darkness flooded the settlement. He and others as well repeated in disbelief: “First-Mother?” And demanded more, and explanation. Certainly Wolf-Step spoke of the The-People-of-the-Hills. “They did not see her face to face, but the earth told them of her first, and in the distance they saw her move into the needle-trees between the hills, and they saw her Great Teeth. Their hearts told them not to follow her.”

Out of the confusion of excited voices Far-Traveler raised his own.”In all my travels, and my father on his, and his fathers on theirs, have we not seen a First-Mother or a First-Father, not a trace of them. And everyone knows that they do not travel alone.”

Voices contradicted him, and agreed, and contradicted again, but Shadow-of-the-Wind lowered his gaze once more into the flames and felt himself smile. Clearly came the memory to him of how his father’s father had told stories of his father’s father, of the Great Journey. How his eyes had flashed and his heart had pounded hearing the stories of the First-Mothers and First-Fathers, of their power and wisdom; of the hunting of them in hard winters, the greatest hunt of all.

Excitement passed through his body, as he had not felt it since the Return of Her and of their daughter. His mind grew still. He raised his head and spoke, neither loudly nor quieltly: “I will seek her.”

Far-Traveler fell silent in the middle of a sentence and looked at him in surprise; the others too turned their heads, and only the fires spoke. Far-Traveler opened his mouth, but with pain in his eyes he closed it again after one look into his own eyes. Shadow-of-the-Wind had made his decision.

Shadow-of-the-Wind straightened himself. Sleep would not come. Silently he sat for some time in the darkness, the emptiness at his side like a hole. He draped the fur cloak around his shoulders and opened the closure of the hut, letting in the cold night wind and the glow of the stars. He took his largest leather sack and packed a few flints into it, and three of his spare blades, a coil of braided rope, a bowl, two smaller rabbit furs, and his spare pair of leather shoes. He threw the sack over his shoulder, took his small leather pouch, in which the unfinished blade also lay, and stood sluggishly between the empty gloomy hut and the wide cold outside and could hardly bring himself to move. He felt the phantom of Her lips upon his. Felt the phantom of Her fingers upon his shoulders. And he forced his legs to move.

He stretched, breathed in the dark air deeply, and looked up to the half moon. He laid sack and pouch beside the still-glowing fire, took two logs from the woodpile and set about awakening the fire once more.

For a time he watched the sparks, how they danced toward the stars. Then he took the blade and the pressure-bone from his pouch and began to finish the work. He heard Far-Traveler step out of his hut. Heard him walk slowly behind him and felt his gentle hand upon his shoulder. Sadness tightened Shadow-of-the-Wind’s throat.

Far-Traveler sat down beside him at the fire, a straight sturdy hazel staff in his hand. With long sure movements he began to strip the bark from the staff with a blade and cut away the knots. To the dancing of the fire they worked. The pieces of stone that Shadow-of-the-Wind pressed away became smaller and smaller. Methodically he thinned the sides, sharpened the point, pressed out the hollow at the rear where it would be fitted into the staff. And one more ridge on the broad face. And one more piece at the tip. And there was nothing left to do. The blade was finished.

Hesitantly Shadow-of-the-Wind lowered his tense arms. Far-Traveler studied him, the staff in his hand ready. They raised their heads toward the sky, into which grayness had sunk and had driven away the stars.

Far-Traveler rose, stepped briefly into his hut, and returned with a skull-bowl filled with dry resin and cord. He set the bowl into the flames so that they would melt the resin and held out an open hand to Shadow-of-the-Wind.

He placed the new blade into it and watched Far-Traveler inspect it, nod appreciatively, and then fix it into the narrow split at the top of the staff. He waited a moment, then took back the bowl and applied the resin around stone and wood with a frayed stick. Then he skilfully bound the cord around the joint and spread more resin upon the binding. Once more he inspected everything critically. Then he turned to Shadow-of-the-Wind and presented the spear to him with both hands. He bowed and received it with both hands. For a brief moment they looked deeply into each other’s eyes and then they watched the day come.

The first people emerged from the huts. But instead of the usual greetings, and the preparation of the day, and the gathering, they first lit the second fire and stood and sat scattered throughout the settlement, waiting. Call-of-the-Crane warmed a single bowl of pumpkin mash and handed it to Shadow-of-the-Wind with dark eyes. Without hunger he ate, slowly, as though he wished to delay his departure. His gaze wandered once more to the little mound of earth and his heart became so heavy that he struggled to rise.

All the others rose as well. He-Who-Never-Misses began to strike the drum softly. Others sang quiet sounds. She-Who-Listens-to-Crows came and handed him a pouch in which he felt dried meat, bread and herbs. He nodded gratefully.

All stood around him in a wide circle, not close, and a great gap in their ranks. Shadow-of-the-Wind looked each of them in the eyes. Call-of-the-Crane sobbed and drew him into her arms. She laid her soft hand upon his cheek and whispered: “Find peace, brother.” And stepped back.

Shadow-of-the-Wind turned with a face of stone, tied the bags upon his back, gripped the spear tightly, and took a step toward the opening. Far-Traveler stepped up to him. He laid his hands upon his shoulders and spoke softly: “Find the way back into Now. Let the wind carry away the memory and let it be free, to come and to go. Nothing is ever lost.”

Tears broke from his eyes and without turning around he trudged out of the circle, out of the settlement, and into the forest. Single snowflakes danced down from the sky.

Shadow-of-the-Wind paused and listened to the calls of a travelling group of cranes. He wished them a good journey and continued on his way. It was wonderful to walk, simply to walk. He had not been here in a long time. Still, single flakes were falling, but the ground was yet too warm to welcome them.

How long would it take him to find the First-Mother? A few days ago the others had received the news, itself already a few days old; he himself would need a few days to reach the hills. Depending on how fast the First-Mother was travelling, and where she was going; a few days more.

Swiftly his legs carried him through the forest. Sometimes birds sang. Sometimes the bark of a deer echoed. The bare crowns of the trees stood dark against the gray sky. The snow had stopped falling. A few times he paused at springs he knew, without sitting, and drank and ate a little meat; his appetite had not yet returned.

At the edge of a clearing he found old berries, some of which were still sweet. And he walked and walked and saw how more and more often conifers stained the forest with their green. Upon some trees snow had remained. He was drawing nearer to the hills.

And he walked until the gray sky grew grayer and his legs were tired. He found a quiet place at the edge of a meadow. The wind was still today. He laid down his things beside a dark great stone and gathered dry wood and tinder from the forest. With a flint he awakened a fire and was glad for its crackling voice. He ate a few strips of meat, with more appetite now, and massaged his legs.

And he listened to the immense silence, as he had all day long. It had been a long time since he had been alone. He closed his eyes and the corners of his mouth twitched. It had been exhausting for him among the others, to speak, to laugh, to listen. When all he had wanted was to speak with Her.

Nothing is ever lost. What was that supposed to mean? They had returned, and of course become part of everything again, but still he would never see them again, would never feel Her again. Would never hear his daughter make more than that single sound before her eyes had grown cold. Would never show her the forest. Would never hold her hand. Would never see her come to know the world in its countless forms. Would never see her witness the awakening world of spring. His sobbing echoed through the deepening darkness.

He let it fade. The tears dried. And like a distant call whose language he did not understand, the voice of Far-Traveler stood in his mind. Nothing is ever lost.

He laid more wood upon the fire, lay down upon the grass, covered himself with his extra furs, and stared into the dark blackness of the sky. There were no stars tonight.

Shadow-of-the-Wind awoke with cold bones in the dawn.

It took a while before he had fully returned from the world of dreams; he remembered only shadows. Sluggishly he sat up. The fire had nearly fallen silent. In the distance ravens spoke. The sky was gray still. And it had grown colder. For a while he sat and listened to the air; to the rushing of the wind through leafless trees and to the otherwise nearly empty silence. The First Snow would soon arrive.

He rubbed his arms and face and rose. He listened to the loneliness in his tightened chest and thought briefly of the settlement, of the people, of how they were beginning the day. And yet, the loneliness had been there as well. Only not as clear as now. He had to see it, he had to listen to it. He had to find the way back into Now.

He packed his things, extinguished the fire, tied on the bags and took up the spear. He paused briefly, his gaze vague. He shook himself, thanked the earth for the safe sleeping place and moved his legs.

He thought back to the joy every morning had once brought. How he had not always awoken with a clouded spirit and the dream-world unwilling to release him. When rising had cost no effort. Was the world not still as beautiful as it had always been? And he looked at the forest. Saw the moss and the young trees with their dry leaves. Saw the branches stretched elegantly into the air like arms. Saw the frost flash upon the firs. Heard birds sing even beneath a gray sky. Felt the cold wind upon his skin. And felt movement bring warmth back into his body. And he felt a smile awaken his face. The world was still beautiful. And perhaps in only a few days he would find the First-Mother. His step grew lighter.

The plain slowly gave way to hills and he made every step with clear eyes, searching for traces of the People-of-the-Hills and of the First-Mother. There was no place for thoughts that clouded his mind as a handful of earth clouds a bowl of clear water.

By midday the plain lay completely behind him and he followed the sound of water that the wind had carried to him. It was not long before he found the stream between the hills. He remembered the spring, some springs ago, when he had rested upon its banks before, though they had been higher then. Compared to that, it was little more than a trickle at this time of year.

He laid down his things, took the bowl from his pouch, and knelt by the water. He plunged his hands deep into the icy flow, closed his eyes briefly, and listened to the running water, how it spoke of the coming cold. He drank two full bowls with great pleasure. Then he rose and removed his clothes to follow the invitation of the stream. He stepped into the water, which did not even reach his knees, and felt it draw the weariness from his feet. First he lowered himself to his knees. Then he lay down upon the streambed and let the cold wash over him with shallow breaths. He submerged his head beneath the water and let the sounds of the world pass away. And heard only the rushing water flowing by.

He washed himself thoroughly before stepping from the stream again, his body red and fully awake. He dried himself with one of the furs, shook himself for some time to bring warmth back into his limbs, and dressed once more. He thanked the stream and continued onward in brighter spirits. And hummed quietly to himself.

At midday he rested among a few winter-trees and ate a little meat and bread; they had truly packed generously for him. Even though the clouds had thinned somewhat and now and then a piece of blue sky flashed through, he knew that the snow would come soon. So he gathered some dry moss and bark for tinder. He had just pulled a large strip from a White Tree when the wind carried human voices to him. He froze. He had truly been faster than he had thought.

Briefly he peered in the direction of the voices, hidden by the forest, and lowered himself to the ground. How strange, to hide from other people. And he could ask them about the tracks, and the direction. But he did not want to speak. To no one. And he did not want to explain himself. He had no doubt that he would find the First-Mother alone.

It was not long before no trace of the voices remained in the wind. Even so, with light feet he gathered his things and continued on toward the mountains that rose from the horizon, so distant that he had never seen them face to face.

The sky grew gray and grayer and the hills higher. And he walked and walked. Not very long before evening, between two hills, the ground became marshy. The upper layer of ice cracked beneath his feet. He stopped. She had been here. He was certain of it. With open eyes and ears he looked around. On some gray trees, branches had been broken high above his head. And there! His heart leapt. In a few steps he stood over the great round impression. He went to his knees and listened to the earth tell him of the First-Mother, how she had walked here among the hills.

He laid his hand into the deep print, it filled only half the track. Reverently he raised his head and saw the trail continue onward. And with a smile upon his lips he followed it, now leaping, now creeping, feeling like a little boy again. It had not been long since she had passed this way. Perhaps one or two days. After the marsh it became harder to see the signs, and evening approached. His stomach growled.

He turned away from the trail and the forest opened a little. He found a group of large stones for his camp. He gathered wood, awakened a fire, and took up his spear. He did not want to use up his meat supplies too quickly, and not far away he had seen rabbit holes.

He crouched in the shelter of a few bushes near one of the holes, held the spear ready, and listened. Birds sang in the last light of the day. Leaves rustled beneath the feet of small animals. Softly the wind whispered through the branches. Not far away he caught sight, from the corner of his eye, of a gray-white pelt leaping. He raised the spear a little. But the rabbit moved in the wrong direction. With some of the others, the hunt would have been easy.

He remained motionless until the light had nearly faded and he was already considering giving up, when a rabbit cautiously poked its head from the hole, flinched back briefly, and then hopped from its burrow. Shadow-of-the-Wind raised the spear. His muscles tightened. And in one flowing movement he rose and cast the spear with all his strength before the sounds could frighten the animal away. The point pierced the rabbit. With a soft cry it toppled to the side and lay still. He knelt before the body and bowed.

After letting the rabbit bleed for a while, he skinned it in the firelight, then carefully slit open the belly with one of his spare blades and removed the entrails. He set aside the evenly dark liver and the heart and threw the rest into the flames. Then he cleaned the body with a tuft of grass, skewered it upon a stick, and held it over the side of the fire where he had uncovered the glowing coals.

He ate gratefully. And when his belly was full, he looked toward the mountains, hidden beneath the cloak of night, and smiled broadly. She was close!

Snowflakes upon his cheek awakened Shadow-of-the-Wind in the early morning. Drowsily he opened his eyes. He had dreamed of his parents; their faces still stood clearly in his mind. Slowly he sat up. The snow had come. Not much yet, but it was there. The fire had fallen silent. He remembered his parents and sat for a time listening to the gentle sound of the snow, feeling lonely in the endless vastness of the world.

Without appetite he ate two strips of meat, packed his things, and set himself in motion with heavy limbs. He returned to the trail. At the sight of the footprints the excitement stirred through the haze inside him. Now and then the First-Mother had left them in soft earth. Though the snow would soon hide the prints, it was not difficult to follow the trail among the trees.

He walked and followed. The snow grew thicker. And he thought back to Her. How he had first seen her when she had come to them from the People-at-the-Great-Water. How shy she had been, yet with great strength in her eyes. He remembered their first kiss in spring. How they had joined beneath the light of the Full Moon. He felt her breath upon his neck and her fingers upon his skin.

He remembered how her belly had begun to swell. How wondrously she had glowed. He heard her moan in pain during the nights, and her belly had grown larger. And the night when her screams had torn apart the darkness. And the smell of blood. And more screams. Endless. He heard the cry of his daughter, once, clear and mournful, before she had fallen silent. And her small face motionless like her mother’s. Shaking, he wiped the cold tears from his face and trudged onward. He remembered digging the hole. He remembered laying them both into the earth. How he had given them the bear-claw for protection. And how the earth had soon covered them. And how he would never hold them again.

A strange booming sound in the distance startled him from his thoughts. His foot caught on a root. He stumbled and nearly fell. Had that been the First-Mother? He listened, but he heard only the snow falling. Dull and empty, he stared into the air. Why did he torment himself with his thoughts, with his memories?

He went to his knees and ran a hand through the new snow that had begun to cover the ground. He rubbed some of it into his face. Then he rose and looked toward the mountains. It was already after midday. The gray of the winter forest had become white.

The signs had become clearer. It was no longer far. He ate some meat while standing, ignored his thirst, and continued onward with heavy steps. After some time he heard the booming again. Like a cry for help, it seemed to him. He walked faster. Soon he saw the round tracks in the snow itself.

And in the early evening he saw a brown pelt among the trees in the distance. He stopped. His heart pounded.

Slowly and quietly he continued forward. Was it truly her? He had never doubted that he would find her. And yet now it seemed unreal that she should have stepped from the old stories into the forest. She must truly be enormous. The back he could now see more clearly rose high among the trees. Uncertain, he stopped once more. Would she run if she heard him? Or attack him? What did he even want from her?

The snow fell thicker and swallowed all other sounds.

A mighty trunk rose above her back and boomed loudly and far through the forest. No answer came. Shadow-of-the-Wind made his decision. Without caring about noise or concealment, he walked toward her. The snow crunched beneath his feet. He saw the great body stir before he stepped onto the clearing. First he saw one of her enormous tusks. Then an eye, looking deeply at him. And she turned fully toward him. He stopped in awe. How immense she was. The head alone was nearly as large as he himself. Between the trunk, which moved slowly back and forth, the tusks curved elegantly. Above the head her back rose even higher in a great hump. Firmly she stood upon four legs like tree trunks. The brown-black fur was long and matted.

Her eyes, small compared to her body, looked at him from great depths. She did not move. He saw the pain and the sorrow in her eyes. And he understood that she was searching for her own kind. But there were no First-Mothers and First-Fathers anymore. And still she searched. Ever onward. Even though there was nothing left to find.

Silent they stood facing one another upon the clearing in the snow beneath the graying sky, without time.

She rumbled a deep sound, turned away, and trudged to the edge of the clearing. The earth trembled beneath each of her steps. Heavily she lowered herself to the ground and made a cloud of snow burst into the air. She laid her head upon the earth, tusks forward, and regarded him with her deep eyes.

In the last light of day, Shadow-of-the-Wind chose a place for himself at the edge of the clearing, at a respectful distance, and shovelled snow aside for his sleeping place. He took the wood and tinder from his sack and hesitated briefly. Would the fire frighten her? But he had no thick fur to protect him from the cold of the night. She raised her head at the sound of the flints. And when the first sparks became flames, she flinched for a moment and he thought she would rise. But she sought his gaze and relaxed once more.

He fed the fire until it was large enough to drive the cold from his body and sat quietly in the flickering glow beneath the falling snowflakes. His gaze rested upon the First-Mother, who before long closed her eyes; her breathing grew heavier. A warm wave washed through his chest. The stories had not been exaggerations. That he had truly found her, that she truly lay here, so close to him.

For some time he remained with the feeling of her and her sorrow. Then he ate the last of his hard bread and went to sleep.

A strange tearing sound woke Shadow-of-the-Wind from dreamless sleep. He sat up and watched the First-Mother with wide eyes as she tore clumps of grass from beneath the snow with her trunk and brought them to her mouth. She was truly here. And she was still here. He smiled broadly. She turned her head briefly toward him and then continued eating in peace.

A thick layer of snow covered everything. Everything was quiet. Everything was peaceful. The snow had stopped falling and the sky was a little brighter. He stirred the last embers into a small fire and let the flames melt two bowls of snow, which he drank eagerly. With it he ate the last remains of the rabbit.

He silenced the fire with several handfuls of snow, which trickled pleasantly between his fingers, packed his things, took up his spear, and turned toward the First-Mother, who had stopped eating some time ago. She turned and stepped from the clearing into the forest. But she looked back at him once, as though making certain that he was coming too. He smiled wider still and followed the figure of legend with light feet.

At an unhurried pace they travelled through the day toward the mountains. Sometimes the First-Mother stopped to skilfully break branches with her trunk, or to search beneath the snow for grass. Twice she called with her mighty voice into the distance. Afterward she stood for a while and listened. And then, with clouded eyes, continued through the silence.

Shadow-of-the-Wind delighted in trudging through the new snow. And even more in feeling the First-Mother beside him and studying her again and again. Watching how she walked and ate. How her enormous tusks swung from side to side with every step. With what calm she moved. How lonely she must be. His heart ached each time she stood listening after her calls.

Time passed without many thoughts passing through his mind. He felt nature alive as he had not for a long time. Sometimes he felt like a child when he delighted in a patch of blue sky flashing briefly between the clouds. Or when he leapt into a drift of snow. Or whenever the First-Mother looked at him with her kindred eyes.

Long before evening darkened, she stopped at the foot of a slope and looked at him expectantly. Smiling, he nodded to her. It was a good place to spend the night. While the First-Mother returned to eating, he cleared a piece of ground for the night, sat upon the cold earth, listened to the birds singing, and watched the clouds grow thinner, break apart, and vanish before the pale blue evening sky. In the distance the sun burned behind the mountains.

He gathered wood that was not too wet and prepared a fire. He found a small stream, nearly frozen over, and several rabbit holes not far away. He did not have to wait long with his spear held ready before a white rabbit hopped through the snow almost beside him. He carried the dead animal back beneath the gaze of the First-Mother and awakened the fire. For a time he held the rabbit in his hands, the bloodied spear beside him. How everything turned into everything. Only a moment ago the rabbit had been rabbit. Now its flesh would become part of him. And its bones would become earth and grass again, which other rabbits would eat. And he himself would one day return to the earth from which he had come. And become something else.

The First-Mother settled herself nearer to him than she had the night before. She looked at him briefly and closed her eyes. Shadow-of-the-Wind sat for a while longer. Then he lay down, covered himself, and closed his eyes too beneath the light of the stars.

Brilliant blue sky greeted his eyes in the morning. Light-footed, he rose and nodded to the First-Mother, who regarded him while chewing. Smiling, he stretched. The forest shone with joy beneath its white blanket under the bright sky. Shadow-of-the-Wind melted snow for himself, drank, and ate a little, savoring it. Then he packed his things and stepped toward the already waiting First-Mother. “Let us go!” he said aloud with a smile. As though in answer she made a leap and began to bound about like a young deer. The earth trembled and Shadow-of-the-Wind laughed. Again and again she scooped up snow with her trunk and blew it into the air so that it rained down over both of them.

At last she calmed, looked at him with lighter eyes and together they entered the day. How wonderful it was to have no destination. Everything undecided, everything open. And not to linger suffering in the past inside his thoughts. In the distance a deer bellowed. And another.

And so they travelled that day and the next. And onward. Sometimes the sun shone, sometimes snow fell and the mountains grew ever larger. With wide eyes Shadow-of-the-Wind looked toward the distant peaks, how they pierced the clouds.

Only rarely did the First-Mother call into the distance now.

One evening they stopped in the shadow of a great rock, which had become more and more common now. Great birds, which Shadow-of-the-Wind had never seen before, called in the distance beneath the dark sky. Single snowflakes danced down to the earth. The First-Mother and he stood facing one another, as they had the first time they had met. He felt that the farewell was drawing near; not for any reason, but simply because it was time. But not yet. The thought of leaving her pained him.

Slowly he took a step forward. She remained still. He took a few more steps until he stood directly before her and carefully raised his hand. She merely snorted, but did not move and looked at him with her deep eyes. He laid his hand upon the rough fur of her trunk. They stood. And he felt her. And she felt him.

In the glow of the fire he lay down upon the earth, satisfied. The rock above them hid part of the sky. He closed his eyes, but only with difficulty did restless sleep come. Again and again he nearly started awake, and did not know whether he heard the shadows moving only in his dreams. He jerked awake. Fully alert, he sat upright and reached for his spear. He had surely heard a shadow flatten leaves. The embers cast an orange glow. The First-Mother slept standing and swayed gently from side to side.

Shadow-of-the-Wind remained completely motionless and listened into the night. Upon the rock? He did not even need to hear the predator. He felt it. There! He saw a great silhouette rise from the rocks above the First-Mother. Every muscle in his body tightened. And in the very moment the shadow sprang, he sprang up as well with a quiet cry and thrust the spear upward. A Great-Toothed Cat! At the last moment it pushed away from the rock and landed several paces from him in the snow.

The First-Mother had awakened and stepped back, stamping uneasily from foot to foot. Shadow-of-the-Wind turned toward the cat, still astonished. His father had told stories of the great battles with the Great-Toothed Cats. But the stories were old. No one had seen one for a long time.

The cat took a graceful step forward. The flames danced in its eyes. Shadow-of-the-Wind bent his knees slightly, planted himself firmly, and waited. And then, with terrible snarling, the cat sprang forward, its extended claws reaching toward him. He waited until the last moment, then he threw himself aside and drove the spear into the stretched chest. The spear slipped from his hands and he fell to the ground. Immediately he scrambled back to his feet and seized the spear whose point remained buried in the cat. The beast lay upon the earth, choking.

With pounding heart and shallow breath he looked down at it. What a wondrous animal. It took its final breaths, then the chest became still. The long pointed fangs glowed in the orange light. The First-Mother stepped carefully forward and touched the body with her trunk.

Why had the cat tried to attack a First-Mother alone? Surely it was powerful, but an Ancient Beast? He frowned. Small squeaking sounds made him start. Leaves rustled. Beside the rock two small cats emerged from the brush and hurried clumsily toward the body of the Great-Toothed Cat. They pressed their heads against her body and muzzle and cried with their bright little voices.

Shadow-of-the-Wind grimaced. He took two strips of meat from his pouch, knelt a few steps from the cubs, and held the meat out toward them. The little cats regarded him fearfully and hid behind the lifeless body. Patiently he remained crouching and made calming sounds. Eventually one of them took a few hesitant steps toward him, retreated, and then finally dared to snatch the meat between its teeth and stumble back. The other took longer, but eventually he won it over as well. Chewing, they crouched beside their mother and regarded him and the First-Mother with suspicion. Shadow-of-the-Wind rose and brushed his hand across his face.

With a heavy heart he lifted his head toward the sky, now turning blue, and thought of all who had returned.

The gaze of the First-Mother met his. They looked deeply into one another’s eyes and shared their sorrow.

Time passed. Then she took a few steps backward, her eyes seemed lighter now. She raised her trunk and called to him in a deep booming voice. Long the sound echoed. One final time she sought his eyes, then she turned away. Slowly she walked into the forest and soon she was gone.

Sorrow broke open within his chest and he wept. He sank to the earth and wept for the First-Mother. For his parents. For his brother. For all who were no longer here. For Her. For his daughter.

He wept until the tears ran dry. They all came only briefly, were only briefly these forms, until they returned to where they had come from. There was no ending, Nothing is ever lost. He understood it. The sorrow was there and it came and went. But to keep Her alive in his thoughts after life was as pointless as struggling against the wind rushing over the snow. They were only echoes. What was, had been. And what is, is.

The cubs had come close to him now and wandered around him. He rose and looked after the First-Mother. The sorrow in his chest opened into a warm vastness. And he bowed and laughed and was glad to be alive. He packed his things, turned towards to the enormous mountains. He had dreamed of climbing towards the clouds on their backs. The cubs hesitated briefly beside their mother. But soon they hurried after him.

A gust of wind surrounded Shadow-of-the-Wind and he felt Her embrace. In the distance the birds were calling.