A prehistoric man sits by a campfire in a cave with a cave painting.
I wake up on cold fur laid over stone. The fire crackles softly beside me, casting a warm glow on the cave wall. I see the red outline of an animal I painted days ago. My fingers twitch鈥攄ry, cracked, dusty. Smoke drifts upward. The smell of ash and damp earth fills my nose. My chest rises slowly. My legs feel sore from yesterday鈥檚 hunt. Tools lie scattered鈥攁 spear, bones, sharp stones. I hear wind outside. I don鈥檛 move yet. I listen. I breathe. I survive. Voir plus
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