The very first days of cavemen must have been fascinating. A band of dirty humans huddled together around a common hearth, fire lightning dark corners of the cave, walls painted with the first visuals of creative thought, shaved bones of animals scattered all around. It is an idealized vision, probably not very close to the reality, but it is vision I find the most enjoyable. Hunters would come back after a long, tiring journey, dragging fresh corpses of dead beasts. They'd be warmly greeted by the keepers of the cavern. A few brash, single-syllable words exchanged. Rejoicing around the bloody flesh, children jumping of excitement while mothers chopped off the most delicious pieces.
Come evening the band would circle around the fire, cooking the food - fat-juice dripping on burning branches, red meat slowly turning brown, crisping up its edges - jaws clasping eating with joy, pleasure, satisfaction - consuming calories of the fallen neighbors. As hunger would cede, the songs of the old would be sung:
We killed a beast today,
We followed him for long,
We met him at the river,
And he gave us his life,
So we can feed our young,
Tomorrow it might be us,
Our life might be taken,
But today life is ours,
Today we live,
Tomorrow we fight.
As night would deepen, children would slowly fall asleep, their little bellies happy and full and parents would crawl to the dark corners of the cave indulging into pleasures of procreation. Ever-present sense of danger being the strongest of all aphrodisiacs.
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