The hunter gatherer watches from a distance, observing the quarry. He listens to the ground. He tastes the scent of the wind. Only when he has decided the way is clear does he emerge and lead his tribe out of their concealment. They approach with caution, all the time aware of rival predators just beyond the horizon. The hunter’s prey lies dead, still warm and toasty. The carcasses are just what little Tuska would want for her birthday.

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