291,965 BCE – 291,940 BCE | Episodes 1609–1613

The water receded.

It took three days. First the tops of rocks emerged. Then roots appeared. White roots touched the air and turned brown within half a day. The ground still sank underfoot. Feet sank into it.

The one chose the shallower places to walk. Each time the mud rose to the ankle, there was a sound of pulling free. It was lukewarm.

Beyond a dry hill, there were others. Their build was different. The bones above their eyes jutted forward. Five, perhaps six. They moved leaving the smell of fire behind them. They were tracking prey. Where they were going, even they did not know.

They were under the same sky. The same rain had fallen, and the same water had carved the same ground.

The one stood at the edge of a cliff. Below, a river. The water had receded, but the current was fast. Murky.

Something came floating down from upstream. A large branch. It struck a rock, paused briefly, and was carried away again.

The one watched. Watched the rock hold the branch still.

Within the group, there was one who had grown old. Walking had become slow. Eating had diminished. When the young brought back meat, the old one took only a small piece. Returned the rest.

At night, the old one sat close to the fire. Did not move away.

The sound of the river was loud.

The one sat on a rock and watched the surface of the water. As the sun tilted, the angle of light changed. Light trembled inside the water. Where the light trembled, the shadow of a rock lay still. The shadow did not move.

The one looked at the rock. Water struck it, yet the rock did not move.

The one threw a small stone held in hand into the river. It was carried away.

Another group was drawing near.

The one's people noticed through smell. In the morning, the wind shifted. Not an animal. There was fire mixed into it.

Two of the young climbed to higher ground. The one climbed as well.

In the distance, something moved. People. Many of them.

After descending, the one picked up a stone. Turned it over in hand. It had edges. When gripped, it pressed into the palm.

Holding it, the one could not sleep.

Those who had been approaching stopped.

The others stopped as well.

Two groups faced each other across a fire. There were no words. Or rather, there were sounds. But the meanings did not overlap.

The ones with jutting brow-bones brought a child forward.

The child was thin. Its belly protruded.

One of the old from the other side placed a piece of smoked meat on the ground.

The one watched the old one's movements.

The hand that set down the meat remained on the ground a moment longer.

Then the old one stepped back.

The child approached the meat. Ate it.

An adult from the other group said something. A low sound. Repeated several times.

The one did not understand the meaning. But traced the shape of the sound inside the mouth. Did not speak it aloud. Only traced it.

Night came. Two fires burned, a little apart from each other.

Neither went out.

In the middle of the night, the old one stopped moving.

No one noticed. In the morning, a child sleeping nearby reached out and touched, and that was when it became known. The body was cold.

The one drew close. Looked at the old one's face. The eyes were not closed. Half open, they faced the direction of the fire's ash.

The one held a hand over the old one's eyes. Blocked the light. Did nothing else. Only held the hand there.

The other group departed at dawn.

The child looked back. That was all.

The one lowered the hand.

The old one's eyes still faced the ash.

The man was standing there.

At the edge of the group, apart from the rest, was a face the one had never seen. Short in stature, broad across the brow. Eyes set deep, hair thick and dark.

The one reached for a stone at once. A reflex. But did not throw it.

The man's hands were open. He held nothing.

Neither of them moved.

Something in the pit of the one's stomach contracted. Contracted, then slowly opened again. The throat went dry. Breathing grew shallow. Still the legs did not move.

The man opened his mouth. Sound came out. Sounds the one did not know. But the last sound rose. It had the shape of a question.

The one opened their mouth as well. In the language of their own group, they said the name of the water.

The man tilted his head.

The one said it again. This time with a gesture of the hand as well. The man kept his head tilted, but his eyes followed the direction the one's hand indicated.

They walked together.

They reached the water. The man drank. The one drank too.

When the man turned to leave, the one watched him go, still holding the stone. Even as evening came, the hand did not open. The stone had grown warm with sweat.

That night, among the group, the one said nothing of it.

Sitting on a rock.

When had the knees stopped bending? In the mornings, trying to rise, everything from the hips down had become stone. Still, the one moved. Without moving, there was no eating. Without eating, there was death. That order never changed.

In the southern grassland, three fresh droppings from an animal. The one bent close, caught the scent, confirmed the direction. But did not follow. The legs would not keep up. Two younger ones were shown with gestures — hands spread wide, pointing south. They ran off.

The one was left behind.

Something had shifted within the group. There were those who had come from elsewhere. Different faces. Different bones. Different brows. The one watched them from a distance. Did not approach. Gestured to the younger ones: do not go near. But the younger ones laughed and walked toward them anyway.

At night, by the fire, the strangers made low sounds. Not voices exactly — something pushed out from deep in the throat. What they were saying was impossible to know. And yet it was clear they were saying something.

The one moved away from the fire and sat in the shadow of a rock.

The stomach made a sound.

Nothing eaten since yesterday. The two younger ones had not returned. One of the strangers held out a piece of roasted meat. The one did not take it. Did not know how to take it. Or perhaps could not quite work out what taking it would mean.

The stranger set the meat on the ground and walked away.

The one watched it for a time. Then ate.

The night deepened.

Breath turned white. The body felt heavy. Trying to lie down, but unable to move — back still resting against the rock.

Looking up at the sky. Cold lights, beyond counting. Still. Always still. There since childhood, always in that same place. The one had known this, wordlessly, all along.

Feeling left the tips of the feet. The area around the hips grew strangely distant.

The wind fell quiet.

Only the sound of the fire remained.

Then, even that was gone.

Fire grows weak in the night.

This one was the only member of the group who knew that. Sleeping through the day, waking before the sun went down. The body had become this way—or rather, it could not have been any other way. If the fire died, the night creatures would draw near. If the fire died, the old ones would freeze.

From the winter of the twenty-fourth year, this one had kept watch over the fire.

Breaking dry branches. Brushing away ash. Knowing which direction to breathe the flame. Too strong and it dies. Too weak and it doesn't reach. No one had taught this measure of things. It was learned through countless extinctions and rekindlings, through fingers gone black.

There were four in the group. Two older than this one, and a child. The child was perhaps three or four, and cried in the night. When the crying would not stop, this one brought the child close to the fire. Looking into the flames, the child would go quiet. Why, this one did not know. It was simply so.

The autumn of the twenty-eighth year.

A warmth began leaving from inside the body. Not a warmth that could be felt from without—only a quiet diminishing, from within. Food would not stay in the belly. Drinking water did not ease the thirst.

Still, when night came, this one woke.

The strength to break branches was less than before. Branches that would not snap were bent again and again with both hands. They would not give. Then kneeling, pressing them against the edge of a stone. A sound of breaking.

The fire caught.

That night, one of the older members of the group came and sat beside this one. Nothing was said. No sound, no gesture—only the presence of being there.

This one said nothing either.

The fire burned.

As the night drew toward its end, this one lay down. On the back, on the ground. Looking up at the sky. There were a few stars. The watch over the fire was not yet finished.

Still, the body would not move.

The shifting positions of stars across the sky were followed with the eyes. Then the eyes grew still. They remained still, and did not move again.

The fire burned on for a while after.