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Frost clung to the blooming flowers and rising grasses spreading across the flat plains.

The days were getting shorter, the long, summer sunlight dwindling quickly as autumn

approached with winter close on its heels.

Here at the top of the world, just a few miles south of the Arctic Circle, the snow and

the ice were never far away.

But life went on as it had for thousands of years.

Winter would come and spring behind it then the fleeting summer once again.

A herd of woolly mammoth trampled its way through the grass, munching on vegetation as

it went before stopping at a small, burbling stream.

The gargantuan creatures drank and sprayed water through their trunks, trumpeting and

socializing before moving on toward uneaten flowers and grasses.

Bison followed in their wake, grazing in their dozens and hundreds.

The big grazers kept the watchful eye out for the packs of grey wolves that stalked

around the edges, looking for sick, her injured animals on which to prey.

The wolves weren't the only predators working their way across the plain.

Clad and thick fur as in hides bundled up against the cold wind and clutching bone-pointed

spears in their hands, a group of people squatted low in the tall grass near the stream.

They were downwind of the bison, and the creatures were unaware of the hunter's presence.

When the time was right, the people would leap from cover and hurl their spears at the bovine.

One kill could be enough to feed their entire small band for days.

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