Laughter rang out through the crisp autumn air that blew gently around the campsite. A circle of bison-skin walls was illuminated by a small fire that crackled and chuckled playfully. Its orange glow danced from hut to hut and face to face as the people shared the day’s bounties. Everyone was aglow, passing the cooked meat around and talking excitedly. This was the first substantial meal the tribe had secured since the end of summer: a large camel, the only one seen all year. Though everyone was celebrating the victory, one human was unable to clear his mind.

He was called Durnan, the tribe’s most experienced hunter. Though they numbered a mere twelve in all, the tribe was strong because of him. Durnan taught all the young men how to hunt and knew more than anyone else. With a passing glance he could read the land like no man before him; he could always tell when prey or predators had passed through and never got lost. The whole tribe looked up to Durnan, and that was why he could not rest. As the others cheered and joked, he stared straight into the fire, deep in thought.

Where will the herds be? he contemplated. How fast can we catch up? How long will it take to get what we need? Were it not for the occasional pat on the shoulder from one of the young men, Durnan would not have been able to pull himself back to the present.

“Are you all right, grandfather?” Toluk whispered, patting Durnan on the shoulder again with a large and hairy hand.

“Oh, yes,” Durnan mumbled in response. “Thank you, Toluk.”

“Do not be worried,” the young man advised, raising his voice and stretching his muscular arms towards the sky. “We are fed and we are happy!”

Durnan shook his head, his graying hair swaying like willow branches. “That is for tonight. It will not be so in a few days’ time. You must always plan ahead, Toluk. I have told you this.”

“Yes, but there’s no point in planning ahead when you are always miserable.”

Durnan sat up straight, revealing his aging but still powerful body. “I am not miserable! Watch your words, grandson. I carry a heavy burden, and it is one that you will carry some day. You are good, Toluk, but you have much to learn.”

The old man’s voice was not loud, but the authority in his tone was unmistakable. His power was apparent visually as well; the creases in his face created lines of shadows against the orange glow of the fire, and where his skin was visible, it was crisscrossed with scars and underlain with muscle. His dull brown eyes were set beneath a heavy brow, always watchful and calculating. The wear and tear on Durnan’s body made him almost imposing, and though he was not usually a harsh man, it would be easy to mistake him for one at first glance.

Tulok, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. Though they shared blood, the young man did not have the same stern look or great presence as his grandfather. His hair was darker, almost pure black, and his playful brown eyes were full of light and wonder. His features were also smoother and softer, and though he had clearly done his fair share of living, evident in the few but prominent scars and bruises that littered his body.

As Toluk lowered his head, the two men were approached by a boy. He was tall and lanky, but like Toluk, had dark hair and deep brown eyes. The child was no more than thirteen years old and just beginning to accompany the older men on hunts. His inexperience had cost him today: he held his head down to hide a bruise across the right side of his face.

“Harek, hold your head up,” Durnan instructed. “Your wound is nothing to be ashamed of. You are just lucky that the camel was not standing when it kicked you.”

“It’s not that, grandfather,” Harek replied meekly, shuffling his feet like he usually did when he was nervous or lying. “I… I left my knife somewhere on the hill when I was poking at the burrows earlier.”

Durnan sighed and shook his head. “Don’t worry, we can get it in the morning.”

“But what if I’m attacked in the night?” the boy said in a quivering voice. “How will I protect myself?”

“That won’t happen, Harek,” the old man rasped. “Nothing comes within the light of the fire.”

“It’s okay, grandfather,” Tulok reassured. “I can take him to get it.”

“Are you sure?” Durnan asked. “You should know better than anyone what happens beyond the fire’s light.”

“We’ll bring some,” Tulok said proudly. “And besides, it’s really not far from the camp. Come on, Harek.”

Tulok stood up and led Harek into one of the huts. He shuffled around in some tools before identifying a stick that had been tipped with charcoal. They reemerged from the hut and walked over to the fire. Tulok dipped the tip of the stick into the flames before raising his new torch. For a brief moment, the young man exchanged glances with his elder from between a swirl of smoke and embers. He knew what Durnan was thinking about, and as much as he hated it, Tulok ignored the queasy feeling in his gut and turned around to lead Harek out of camp.

The small ring of huts had been placed strategically behind a small hill. On the plains, the wind could pick up unexpectedly and dramatically. Hills offered shelter from the wind to keep the huts warm and the fires burning, so Durnan almost always told the tribe to make camp near one. The only downside was that they limited visibility. It was common practice for the tribe to go around hills rather than over them, so they never walked into something they didn’t want to disturb. However, Tulok and Harek didn’t have that luxury. The boy had left his knife on the hill, so they had no choice but to walk straight up. The fire’s light only extended about halfway up, but the torch illuminated almost the entire other half. Between both lights, Tulok thought they would be safe.

“Do you remember exactly where you left it?” Tulok asked, glancing back down at camp as they trudged up the grassy slope. The dry brown blades hissed in the gentle breeze and almost resembled the rattle of a snake.

Harek nodded, almost stumbling over a clump of sage. “There was a little rock jutting out of the ground and I think I put it down beneath it.”

“Which side of the hill was the rock on?”

“The far side.”

Tulok’s uneasiness doubled. He had only anticipated going to the top of the hill, not over its crest and down the other side. The torch would be enough to see by, but it was still risky.

Maybe Durnan was right? Tulok thought as he and Harek continued to pick their way up the slope. Maybe we should’ve just waited?

The young man was snatched from his thoughts when he felt a chill. A sudden gust of wind ripped over the top of the hill and fell down on them like a wave. Tulok put his free hand up to try to protect the torch, but it was too late. With a soft sizzle, the flame sputtered and disappeared. The warm glow that had surrounded them abruptly fell away, plunging the hillside into a suffocating darkness. Harek gasped and instantly clutched Tulok’s side tightly while he tried to reignite the torch. It was all in vain; the last embers had died, leaving the two humans completely in the dark.

“Tulok…” Harek began, his voice cracking, “can we still get my knife?”

Tulok looked down, but he couldn’t even see the boy’s face. His head snapped this way and that, but the only visible thing was the light of the fire back at camp. Without the torch, the huts looked helplessly far away, as though a dark sea had opened up behind them. Tulok could feel the horror gripping his chest like the crushing weight of a mammoth as he realized just how much danger they were in.

“I don’t know,” Tulok whispered, his voice wavering with fear. “I—I think we need to go back.”

Squinting, Tulok began to shuffle back towards the distant glow of camp. However, Harek was too close, and he ended up stumbling over the boy. Tulok hit the ground face first and was instantly met with sharp blades of cold, dry grass. They sliced his face like a thousand tiny knives, but his thick, weathered skin managed to deflect many of them. The hill was also littered with small thorny plants and jagged rocks, and when Tulok lifted his head, he could feel something warm and wet on his cheek.

“I think I cut myself on a thorn or a rock or something,” Tulok grumbled. “Harek, are you okay?”

Tulok reached out to feel Harek a short distance from his side. When he saw the boy’s head against the dark blue sky, he realized that he was looking up with his mouth agape. Confused, Tulok looked up and saw nothing but a fantastic array of stars that made the sky glitter.

“Yeah, I like the stars too,” Tulok whispered, amused. “You don’t have to stare though. Come on, let’s go—”

The young man didn’t finish his sentence. In front of him was another silhouette just barely visible against the dark blue sky. It was tall and thin, much like a human, and Tulok’s sudden panic gave way to relief.

“Oh, grandfather, I’m sorry,” he began. “The wind blew out the torch. We were coming back and I tripped over Harek. I promise, we’ll be more careful in future. Hey? What’s wrong? You’re not that angry, are you, grandfather?”

Tulok reached out a hand and blindly felt around in the darkness until he hit something. He thought it was a winter foot covering at first, but then he realized that it was much too big and not furry enough. The shape of the foot was also extremely wide and boxy, not at all flat like a normal foot would be. Then it came again: the warm, wet feeling, now on a different part of Tulok’s face. Then once on the top of his head, then on his arm. Slowly, Tulok looked up. From his new angle, he could see that the silhouette had a long face and two large, round protrusions on its head. Though he couldn’t tell what it was he was touching, one thing was certain: it was no human.

“Harek…” Tulok whispered slowly. “Do not panic. Do not bolt. Just back away… very, very slowly.”

The young man began shuffling backwards on his belly, grass and sage crackling as it raked his sides. The creature’s eyes, reflecting what little light was available, seemed to follow him. When it began to move, Tulok’s eyes could no longer keep track of its shape. The shadow shifted to the right, then to the left, then back to the right again, but seemed to twist and contort itself in all kinds of strange ways. Somewhere behind him, Harek began to whimper, but it was all Tulok could manage to keep himself composed. Suddenly, a sharp pain tore across the side of Tulok’s face, and his head was jerked to the right.

“Agh!”

Tulok’s yelp was more than enough to send Harek into a frightened hysteria. With an ugly scream that cracked all the way through, the boy jumped to his feet and began to run for camp.

“Harek, no!” Tulok called weakly, still in shock from the swat. He felt the wind of the creature whip past him and heard its heavy, thudding steps as it charged down the hill in pursuit. “Harek!”

Pain forgotten, Tulok jumped to his feet and ran after. As he faltered down the hill, he heard an uproar rise from the camp below. Determination surged through Tulok’s body when he saw the glinting of spearheads in the firelight. The tribe was ready; whatever this beast was, it would never be able to fight off everyone at once. Tulok put on an extra burst of speed, pushing himself forward as fast as he could. It didn’t take long for Harek and the creature to be just barely visible in front of the orange glow of the fires. Now that Tulok could see, his strides became longer and more even, and he began to catch up with Harek.

But so was the beast. With just a few more bounds it was already on Harek’s heels. It leaped, forelimbs extended and toothy jaws open and tackled the boy to the ground. A blood-curdling screech pierced the night air as the silhouettes went tumbling down the hill. Tulok fought the sick feeling in his stomach and kept running. Tears began blurring his vision and his knees started to grow weak, but he was reinvigorated with every horrific shriek. The world around him became meaningless; all he needed to do was get to Harek.

He stopped when he realized that the creature had stopped rolling. Wiping the tears from his eyes, Tulok saw that Harek was pinned to the ground. He was beating at the animal’s robust face with weak fists while his own head was twisted at an unnatural angle. Tulok stumbled forward but tripped on a rock long before he reached the struggle. Legs burning and heart pounding, he tried and failed to get to his feet. Instead, he watched helplessly as the creature growled happily and relinquished its grip on Harek’s neck. The boy let out a hoarse gasp before screeching again. The animal had now sunken its teeth into Harek’s side and began to thrash wildly.

“No!” Tulok sobbed, tears streaming down his bright red face. “No, no! Harek! Harek!”

Too hysterical to act, the young man watched as Harek’s side was ripped open. Blood gushed from the wound, staining the grass red. As the torches drew nearer, Tulok could make out the beast’s piercing yellow eyes and short, shaggy mane. Large paws held the struggling boy in place as powerful jaws worked at the hole, making it wider. The creature repositioned to lay beside Harek before shoving its head as deep into the body as it could go. Again, it growled with delight, obviously enjoying its meal. When it withdrew its muzzle, Tulok was taken aback by how drenched in blood it was. Every part of the creature, from the forehead to the chest, was soaked in red.

Tulok suddenly realized that the voices and torches were close. The beast turned its head towards them and pinned its ears back. Then, with a growl that shook the frigid air and made Tulok’s body tremble, it stood up and paced around Harek’s limp corpse. The beast lowered its forequarters and took the boy’s broken body by the shoulder with an almost gentle delicacy. When it stood up, its intense yellow stare met Tulok’s frightened gaze. The two hunters locked eyes for several moments before the beast turned around and disappeared into the dark of the night.

“Tulok! Harek!” someone shouted.

Tulok turned his head around slowly. The tribe had arrived in full force, with Durnan at their head. Tulok felt like calling back, but he was too hysterical to form any words. He didn’t need to; when the tribe arrived, the torches illuminated all that needed to be seen. Durnan grabbed Tulok by the arm and helped him stand up, but the young man was shaking violently and nearly collapsed several times. When he finally found his footing, Durnan held him in an embrace.

“Not again…” Tulok whimpered, on the verge of another outburst. “Why’d he have to take him too? Why wasn’t one enough?”

Tulok felt something warm and wet on his shoulder. It was a startling jolt back to reality, but he realized that it was only Durnan’s tears.

“I don’t know,” Durnan wept. “I don’t know…”

Grass crunched beneath the lion’s weight as it flopped down onto his belly. His stomach was round but not quite distended; a small human was nothing more than an appetizer for one of the Great Plains’ largest predators. Still, it was easy prey, and that’s all he really cared about. The herds were disappearing rapidly, so any animal able to be killed was a welcome opportunity. For the lion, humans just happened to be the best option tonight.

With a large yawn, the tawny felid prepared to roll onto his side. As he did so, a sharp pain shot through his shoulder that made him yowl. He righted himself instantly, grumbling softly, and examined his right side. Lodged in the atrophied muscle was the broken handle of a spear. The pointed tip had been put there long ago, and though the wound itself had healed, the leg below had not recovered so well. The once dense, layered muscles had atrophied to leave little more than a scraggly branch of skin and bone.

Pinning his ears, the lion tore his gaze away from the spear and looked out across the lightening plain. Carried on the wind were the scents of humans and their fires with almost every inhale. It was enough to make the large felid wrinkle his nose and growl in annoyance. He shook out his scruffy mane and got to his paws, eager to turn his attention to something else. The lion turned around and padded to the remaining scraps of his kill. He carefully set himself down to lick up the last of the meat with his huge, barbed tongue before chewing the ends off the bones. Once satisfied, the lion staggered to his feet, his bad leg slipping on a rib. The bloodied bone slid across the cold rock and collided with something that made a rattling sound. As the lion limped from his rocky lair, his shadow retreated to reveal the contents of the cave.

Piles upon piles of human bones.