Tales of The Primordial Dawn

As the orange flickers of the fire dance on the rough canvas of the tent, casting distorted shadows of an unwelcome past, I can't help but keep my eyes open. Even when the chilled breeze nips at my exposed skin, I stay put, my siblings, Zulu and Maeve, curling into themselves beside me, their soft snores a comforting cadence in the otherwise eerie quiet.

Staring into the hypnotic flames, I can't erase the haunting images from yesterday's battle. The sight of crimson on the untouched snow, the screams of pain, the finality of death - these scenes have etched themselves into my mind, refusing to leave even in the dead of night.

The soft hoots of a nearby owl and the song of chirps declare the arrival of a new day, its first light shyly peaking over the horizon. Dawn is here, and yet the darkness within me seems to linger, refusing to yield.

My eyes stray towards the tent's entrance, waiting. Aisling, Rasha, and Liora have been tending to the wounded since the clash, their expertise in healing proving invaluable in these challenging times. Their absence weighs heavily on me, the usual chatter and warmth the brought now missing.

A rustling noise disrupts the tranquility, and I turn to see Maeve stirring. She rubs her eyes, her usually lively blue orbs now clouded with sleep. "Tak," she mumbles, her voice hoarse. "Has mother returned yet?"

I shake my head, unable to verbalize my response.

Maeve nods, not pressing further. She understands, always does. But instead of settling back down, she scoots closer to the fire, wrapping her arms around her knees. "I can't sleep," she confesses.

I let out a soft sigh. "I know," is all I manage to say, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. We sit there in companionable silence, the fire our only witness.

Zulu, the youngest of us three, seems to sleep through it all. But then, he stirs, rubbing his eyes. "Is mum back?" He asks, his voice groggy. The innocence in his question pulls at my heartstrings.

"Not yet, Zulu. But she will be soon," I assure him, ruffling his hair. He nods, yawning and curling back into his fur blanket, the small sense of normalcy soothing.

Maeve's brows furrow as she gazes into the fire, the orange glow reflected in her worried blue eyes. "Are we... are we having the ritual today, Tak?" Her voice barely rises above the crackling embers.

"Yes, Maeve. It's tonight," I reply, my voice as calm as I can manage. But inside, my stomach churns. The ritual, a final tribute to those we've lost, feels closer than it is.

Maeve is silent for a moment before she turns to me, her blue eyes searching mine. "Are you okay, Tak?" she asks, her voice barely a whisper. It's a question I've been asking myself over and over again.

"I'm fine, Maeve," I assure her, offering a small smile. But within me, questions swirl like a relentless storm. Who will lead us now that Akara is gone? I'm not sure if I am ready to take up that mantle if chosen. How would the others react? Would they follow me? Seek my wisdom?

I'm shaken from my thoughts as the fur curtain of our dwelling is shoved aside. Brin, a tall and sturdy figure, steps inside. His arm is adorned with multiple bandages, the healing cuts underneath a stark contrast to the strength that emanates from his presence.

"Good morning, Tak, Maeve," he says, his voice strained but steady. His gaze is hard, much like the icy ground beneath our feet. He's been through a lot, but his spirit, like ours, hasn't broken.

"Brin," I nod, acknowledging his presence. He lowers himself beside the fire, the warmth fighting off the chill that's been lingering since the battle.

"You're up early," Brin observes, his eyes fixed on the flames. "Couldn't sleep?"

It's not a question, more of a statement. He understands. We've all seen too much, done too much. Sleep is no longer a refuge, but a battlefield of its own.

"No," I admit, "not really."

He nods, the silence that follows a shared understanding between us. The fire crackles, filling the silence as we sit there, each lost in our thoughts.

"Aisling said they're doing okay," Brin suddenly says. "The wounded are stable. They should pull through."

Relief washes over me, my shoulders sagging a bit. It's one less worry, one less thing to fear.

"We'll need to arrange for the ritual," Brin says, his gaze distant, lost in the dancing flames. "It'll be a long night."

I agree, silently. Preparing for the ritual, ensuring everything is done right for those we've lost, it's an exhausting task.

But it's one we must undertake.

"We'll get through this, Tak," Brin says, his voice filled with a conviction that I find hard to muster. "We'll honor them, and then we'll figure out the rest. One day at a time."

"Who's leading the passing ritual?" I ask, my curiosity tinged with apprehension. The fire flickers, casting long shadows across Brin's face.

"It might be Rasha or Garan," he replies, stoking the fire thoughtfully. "Kiera might take care of the Wulani...I can't say for sure."

"Kiera, how is she?" I inquire. The woman has taken on a leadership role. Her decision to stand with us instead of further battling, it was all commendable.

Brin shrugs, "Looks to be doing fine now, those twins keep her company." There's a silence, broken only by the crackle of firewood. "But there's bound to be tension, between us and them. With the ritual coming up... I hope nothing goes wrong."

My eyes meet Brin's. "Hope," I sigh, "it's all we can cling to. All I wish for is that no harm comes to either side."

Maeve, silent until now, stirs. Her voice is barely above a whisper, "What do you mean, Tak?"

I look at her, the firelight dancing in her wide eyes. "I don't want the Ashaya to treat the Wulani as villains, Maeve. Or consider them inferior because we won the battle. They were desperate, hungry. We would have done the same in their shoes."

My words echo around the small space, each one heavy with the truth they carry.

"Victory," I continue, "doesn't mean we get to treat them poorly. We won, yes. But, it doesn't make us superior. They are people, just like us. And people make mistakes, especially when they're desperate."

Brin nods, "It's true. They've lost as much, if not more than us. Treating them poorly won't help anyone. We need to find a way to coexist."

I agree more at that statement. Peace paved the way for prosperity. If we had to constantly look over our shoulders to make sure the Wulani people wouldn't stab us in the back, we'd never get any work done. The same could be said for them. But deep down I knew that the wounds inflicted on both sides would take a long time to heal. I just had to pray that time would lessen the pain so both tribes could move past this.

"In a strange way, I'm glad they came," I admit, looking at the fire.

Maeve looks at me with surprise, her eyebrows knitting together. "You are?"

I offer her a gentle smile. "We were a tribe of only twenty, Maeve. There's so much to be done. With the Wulani, we've got more hands to help."

Brin chimes in, his tone lighthearted, "More work too, if you ask me."

"I know," I chuckle. "But isn't it better that way? More hands make for light work."

"I suppose you're right," Brin concedes, a teasing glint in his eye. "Maybe we can have them help with the defensive wall we've started. That's hard work, especially in this cold."

"That would be great," I agree, recalling the cold days spent laboring over the wall. "The cold gets into your bones and it takes forever to get warm again."

Maeve pipes in, "I don't want to work in the cold. It's horrible!" She shudders at the memory.

Her comment draws laughter from Brin and me. We all share the same dread of the biting cold that makes any work feel ten times harder.

"Seems we're in agreement, then," I say, still chuckling. "No working in the cold if we can help it."

With a sigh, I gaze at the flames, lost in my thoughts. "There's so much I want to do," I murmur, more to myself than to anyone else.

Turning to Maeve, I ruffle her hair. She tries to swat my hand away, but I catch her wrist and hold it, my smile broadening. "And so much to teach, too."

As we settle into silence, our laughter and conversation make the hut feel a little warmer, a little more like home.

"Guess I'd better get going," Brin finally says, pulling himself up from his comfortable spot by the fire. "There are others I need to check on."

I give him a nod of acknowledgment. "Thanks, Brin."

His brow creases, curiosity lighting up his eyes. "For what?"

"Just...for checking on me," I answer, trying to shrug it off. "Not everyone would bother."

He laughs gently at that, a warm, inviting sound that echoes softly in the confines of the hut. "Someone has to keep an eye on the tree that's holding us together."

I can't help but grin at his metaphor. "I'm the tree now?"

He smirks back at me. "One that's only just beginning to bud."

The gentle teasing brings much-needed relief from the heavy atmosphere. It's a moment of normalcy that I didn't realize I was craving.

"Thanks again, Brin," I say, a little more sincerely this time.

He just gives me a silent nod, his eyes full of understanding. Then, pulling back the fur curtain of our hut, he disappears into the early morning, leaving us in the comforting silence.

As I watch him go, I can't help but feel a little more grounded. Yes, I've experienced what it feels like to take another's life, but I can't let that burden haunt me forever. I was living in this Neolithic era with memories of a past life for a reason. What that reason was I was still trying to figure out, but one thing is for certain. I can't stop. The creative ideas in my mind had to be brought to life, if not it would take thousands of years before others figured them out. 

I only had this life, and I only had one family. It was them that made me bring these thoughts to life. I wasn't a genius, nor did I know any building skills. But then again, none of these people knew either. I had one edge over them and I had to use it with everything I had. One project at a time, each one a building block to a future story left untold. I, Tak would help tell that story just as I've done so before in the stories I've woven together in the past.

I'm pulled from my thoughts by Maeve's sleepy voice. "What did Brin mean, about you being a tree?"

I smile down at her, pulling her close for warmth. "He just means I've got a big job to do, and I'm only just starting."

I don't add that it's a job I wanted, but one I'm not sure I'm ready for. Instead, I squeeze her shoulder reassuringly and settle back down by the fire.