The hunter crouched low behind the outcrop and watched the grazing ibex. His strong fingers curled around the rock in his hand and his bowed legs were tense, ready to hurl him out of concealment and on to the white animal with its curved horns. The ibex lowered his head and reached for the green tuft at the base of the outcrop. Aurc uncoiled his strong legs and with a mighty shove jumped towards the animal, the rock raised for the brutal blow. At the same moment the ledge under his right foot gave way and with a sickening lurch he fell backwards over the cliff. His descent ended thirty feet down the rock face where he uprooted a small pine tree before coming to a crunching halt. The ibex disappeared up the steep ravine.
The sun was already high when his eyes opened. The first thing he saw was the seabirds wheeling around the sky, looking for the shellfish on the glistening beach sand; then he saw his leg. Twisted and mangled with a white bone sticking through the skin. He carefully shifted into a sitting position and grunted with pain as he straightened out the leg as well as he could. He took the tunic off his broad hairy shoulders and tore a strip of skin off it. He used a stick as a splint and tied it to his broken leg. His mate would have done a much better job. She had patient fingers and her soft cooing voice would help soothe the sharp pain away, but she was no more and he simply had to do this himself. Using the uprooted little tree as a support he started hobbling back to their cave further along the beach.
By the time he got to the final rise leading to the cave the sweat was pouring off his sloping forehead and was dripping from his thick brows. He heaved himself onto the ledge in front of the cave and sat down with his back against the cool rock. The right side of his body felt like it was on fire and he knew he had to hurry to finish his last act, but first he needed to rest.
After a while he took a piece from the fire that always burned at the entrance and crawled into the far back corner, past his bedding and the heap of spent shells. In the flickering light he looked at the skeleton wrapped in skin, her head resting on a soft pillow of grass. He stroked the covers softly and made some endearing sounds. His mate was the last of his kind he had seen in many moons. When she passed he had put her in the in the rear corner so that she could be with the tribe. The yellow buttercup flowers he had left on her wide forehead were wilted so he took them off and flicked the dust away.
He touched the fire to a heap of dried leaves and twigs that he had prepared previously. As the fire flared up he could see the sloping wall next to his mate was covered in lines and marks. He carefully warmed the fat in the hollowed stone basin and mixed some of the red powder into it. There was only a little left but he knew it didn’t matter. This would be his last painting.
He chewed the tip of a twig to make it soft and then dipped it in the bowl of red ochre. He chose an empty spot close to his sitting height and started drawing the hunting scene on the wall. First the ibex, tall and proud, with horns curving all the way back to its shoulders. He should really have used white for the ibex but he didn’t have the time to grind the shells into a white powder. Next he drew the hunter with a few straight lines, his raised arm ended right at a little hump on the wall. He liked the effect and decided not to draw the rock in his hand. He sat back and looked at the result. He grunted satisfaction to his mate but she was mute.
By the time he got back to the entrance the sun was setting across the bay. He sat down next to the fire with his legs straight in front of him. His thick neck muscles relaxed and his big head leaned back against the wall. His breathing was fast and shallow as the searing pain spread across his body. He tried to stop himself from simpering but was not successful. It didn’t matter any way; his voice was the only sound he heard as he watched the night moving in. He closed his eye against the swirling smoke and remembered.
He remembered when he was part of a tribe. They had been living in these caves for many cycles of the sun, hunting the ibex and collecting the shellfish. He remembered the name giving ceremony where the wizened old mother of the tribe named him Aurc, Aurc of the Ibex. She spoke over him with the grunts she did so well, but mostly with her hands. He remembered when he met Lela from the neighboring tribe for the first time; their coming together and their tribes celebrating with fire and stomping.
The smoke filled his wide nostrils but couldn’t drive out the sweet smell of dying meat that came from his leg.
He remembered when the seasons started to change. The snow and ice retreated and the sun shone hotter. It became more difficult to find water and food was scarce as well. The old tribe members were dying away faster and no new babies came to replace them. Slowly they became fewer and fewer until only he and Lela were left. Now she was resting under the wall with paintings and he slowly slid sideways to lie flat on the ground with the smoke covering him like a skin.