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The hunters peered down over the lip of the ravine.

Their practiced eyes searched the dense forests covering the steep hillsides for any sign

of movement.

Or a deer, or orrocks, or bison that might provide them with the meat they needed to survive

the next several weeks.

They were new to this land, the southern reaches of what we now call the Carpathian Mountains

of Eastern Europe, and they didn't intend to stay long.

A few days walk away was the great gorge of the Danube River, whose course they would

follow toward more promising territory.

But first they had to eat.

An icy wind slashed through the hides and furs they wore.

They were young, and their mid to late teens, no beards yet protecting their faces.

It felt like snow was coming, they thought, and their hands chilled around the halves

of their stone-tipped spears.

But there was no game in sight, and it had been days since they'd eaten.

They couldn't return to their group empty handed, best to go a bit further and keep looking

before giving up for the day in making camp.

The sky darkened as they walked, the late fall sun disappearing behind banks of steel grey

clouds.

The wind picked up, howling eerily through the ravines, cutting through the mountains.

...