Harbingers of Civilization

Did you know that cavemen were excellent runners? It's true! Back in the days of hunter-gatherers, cavemen hunted not just by catching their prey by surprise but by tiring them out. They would chase their prey for days on end until, finally, the animals slowed down from sheer exhaustion. That's when the humans would strike.

Well Rice Ryden and Darius found out very quickly.

A few hours later the three of them sat in the middle of a tribal encampment, their hands tightly bound behind their backs with thick, coarse ropes made of animal sinew. The ropes bit into their wrists, leaving faint red marks, and despite their efforts to wriggle free, the knots were expertly tied. Surrounding them was a bustling village nestled in a small clearing at the edge of a dense forest, bordered by rolling plains that stretched endlessly toward the horizon.

The tribal area was alive with activity, a mix of rugged practicality and ancient artistry. Tall, hand-built structures made of wood, reeds, and mud formed a loose circle around the camp's center, where a large fire crackled beneath a spit roasting some kind of animal. Smoke rose lazily into the sky, carrying with it the earthy scent of charred meat and herbs. Animal pelts hung from drying racks, fluttering lightly in the breeze, while colorful woven baskets filled with berries, roots, and nuts sat neatly near the entrances of various huts.

In one corner of the camp, children played a game involving sticks and stones, their laughter a stark contrast to the tense situation at the center of the village. On the other side, several men and women sharpened weapons—stone-tipped spears and bone knives—while others worked on weaving nets or hammering tools from crude metal and rock.

Rice sat cross-legged in the dirt, his eyes darting nervously around the camp as if he might find a miraculous way out. Beside him, Ryden and Darius sat shoulder-to-shoulder, their backs rigid and their faces set in thinly veiled irritation. Both were giving Rice the same, scathing side-eye, the kind that practically screamed, This is your fault.

Ryden leaned slightly toward Rice, his voice low but sharp. "Your saviors are here, huh? Good one. Just fantastic." His dark eyes burned with exasperation, though his tone still carried a hint of that dry humor he couldn't seem to shake.

Darius, ever the man of few words, said nothing. Instead, his jaw was clenched, and his dark eyes bore into Rice like twin daggers. His stoic demeanor somehow made his disappointment even more terrifying, and the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth suggested he was biting back words that would probably cut deep.

Rice, for his part, looked sheepishly between the two of them, a nervous laugh bubbling up. "Okay, okay, in hindsight, not the best move. But hey, at least they didn't kill us, right?"

Before either of them could respond, the sharp scrape of stone on stone drew their attention forward.

The woman they had scared earlier sat cross-legged just a few feet away, her expression cold and calculating as she worked on sharpening the tip of a stone spear. The grinding sound was slow and deliberate, filling the air with an almost ominous rhythm. Her hands moved with practiced precision, each stroke refining the weapon into a lethal point.

Her dark, almond-shaped eyes were sharp and focused, framed by strands of black hair that had been tied back into a loose braid. Her skin was bronzed and sun-warmed, with faint scars across her forearms and shoulders that hinted at a life of hunting and combat. She wore a simple outfit made of leather and woven cloth, adorned with small beads and feathers that rustled softly as she worked.

She didn't speak, but the way her eyes flicked up to meet theirs every so often, as if measuring them up, made the silence feel heavy. When her gaze locked on Rice, her lips pressed into a thin line, and the sharpening strokes of her spear became just a little more forceful.

"Uh… guys," Rice whispered, leaning slightly toward Darius and Ryden. "Is it just me, or does she look like she's deciding which one of us to stab first?"

"Just you," Ryden replied flatly. Then, after a beat: "…probably."

The woman finished sharpening the spear, inspecting the tip with a satisfied nod. She stood slowly, towering over the three of them, the firelight casting her shadow long and menacing on the ground. She stepped closer, her grip tightening on the spear as her eyes narrowed.

Rice gulped audibly. "Okay, so… any bright ideas, team?"

The woman took another deliberate step forward, her bare feet silent against the packed dirt, though each movement sent a spike of tension through the air. The spear tip gleamed dully in the flickering firelight as it rose, inch by inch, until it hovered just a breath away from Rice's throat. He could feel the faint chill of the stone, a sharp and deadly promise.

Rice's eyes widened like saucers, his voice breaking into a desperate, high-pitched croak. "Wait—wait—WAIT! We can help you! We can… we can be useful. Your slaves, even! I—" His mouth moved faster than his brain, stumbling over words. "I can make food! Really good food! Like… the best food ever!"

The woman's face remained unreadable, but at the mention of food, she paused. Her spear tip stilled against Rice's throat, hovering just long enough for a thin bead of sweat to roll down the side of his face. Her dark eyes narrowed, calculating, and she tilted her head slightly to one side as if dissecting him with a silent, predatory curiosity.

"Food?" she repeated, her voice low and guttural, the word thick with an unfamiliar accent.

Rice nodded so vigorously it was a wonder his head didn't snap clean off. "Yes! Food! Delicious food! Amazing food! Mouth-watering, life-changing, clothes-flying-off-your-body kinda food!"

The woman stared at him for another beat, her expression an inscrutable mask. Then, with a swift turn, she strode out of the small clearing without another word, her braid swishing against her back. Rice blinked, frozen in place, before his head whipped around to Ryden and Darius, who looked just as bewildered as he felt.

"What… what just happened?" Ryden muttered under his breath.

Darius grunted in response, his eyebrows furrowed into one long, unamused line.

Minutes ticked by in tense silence. The camp's sounds of activity filled the void—crackling fire, the laughter of children, the faint thud of tools striking wood and stone. Then, abruptly, the woman returned, her approach as swift and direct as before. In one hand, she carried a makeshift basket woven from reeds and sinew, its contents a haphazard collection of ingredients that she unceremoniously dumped at Rice's feet.

The items were as foreign as they were intriguing: a bundle of long, thin roots that looked like a cross between parsnips and ginger, a handful of bright red berries that glistened ominously in the firelight, a clay jar filled with a thick, amber-colored paste that reeked faintly of something fermented, and several large green leaves—thick, waxy, and slightly curled at the edges.

The woman didn't stop there. She crouched low and, with a flick of her wrist, sliced through the ropes binding Rice's hands. The sinew fell away in one clean motion, leaving Rice to gingerly rub at his reddened wrists. She straightened again and jabbed the spear toward the pile of ingredients, her voice sharp with command. "Prove."

Rice blinked down at the ingredients, then back up at her, his mind spinning to catch up. Slowly, a lopsided grin spread across his face as realization dawned. "Ohhh. Oh. You want me to cook something?"

The woman didn't answer, but her grip on the spear tightened slightly, the unspoken threat lingering in the air like smoke.

Rice turned to Ryden and Darius, his grin now bordering on smug. The two men stared back at him, a mix of disbelief and grudging admiration flickering behind their exasperated expressions.

Ryden's voice was deadpan. "You talked us out of being kebabed by… promising to be the camp chef."

Rice shot him a pointed look, mouthing a triumphant "You're welcome, assholes." Ryden rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn't get stuck.

Darius, meanwhile, said nothing, though the slight upward twitch of his eyebrow suggested both incredulity and a lingering desire to punch Rice.

Ignoring them both, Rice cracked his knuckles and rubbed his hands together with sinister glee. A low, theatrical chuckle bubbled up from his throat. "Hehehe… oh, I'm about to make a name for myself. I'm gonna cook so hard their clothes are gonna fly right off."

"You're insane," Ryden muttered.

Rice ignored him, crouching toward the pile of strange ingredients like a scientist preparing for an experiment of legendary proportions. His fingers wiggled with excitement. "Alright, let's see what we've got here… weird roots? Check. Suspicious berries? Double check. Mystery paste that smells like feet? Oh, you know I'm using that."

The woman remained standing nearby, her shadow looming over Rice like a silent overseer, her spear still gripped firmly in hand.