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THROUGH THE MISTS OF TIME… The first flush of dawn lights the sky in the east. It is still dark in the cave but the diminutive hunter stirs. In an instant he is awake, fully alert. Stepping over the women and children still asleep around the now dead embers of the fire, he moves into the pale light. He picks up his bow, a quiver of arrows and his bag made of an eland's stomach. In minutes he is joined by two more, then a third and fourth. A few soft clicks and almost silent exclamations and they move off, eyes alert for the slightest signs of their quarry, padding silently through the long grass...for this is the hunt.
When they return - it may be in only two or three days time if they have to follow the spoor of an antelope wounded by their poisoned arrows until it finally drops - there will be celebration and a feast of meat. And music and clapping and the fire throwing the moving shadows of the little dancers tall on the sandstone walls. |
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