Chapter 2

William made love to his two wives every night before going to sleep, feeling the warmth of their bodies meld with his own. The whispers of love and gratitude that passed between them grew softer and more intimate with each passing moon. They taught him the ways of their people, their language, and their beliefs. He learned the art of living in harmony with the land, the delicate balance of survival that kept them all alive. He watched as the seasons changed, the ice retreating and advancing in a never-ending dance that dictated their lives.

One day, as William was out hunting with his brothers-in-law, they stumbled upon the tracks of a creature none of them had seen before. It was massive, with paws the size of dinner plates and claws that could rip through the thickest fur. A sense of foreboding settled over the group, and they decided to follow the tracks, not for sport, but for the safety of their tribe. The Male woolly Mammoth looked to be 8.9–11.2 ft tall and looked to weigh up to 6000kgs it would be a hard animal to kill.

They approached the beast with caution, their breaths hanging in the frigid air. William’s heart pounded in his chest, but he knew the strategy. He had studied the mega fauna extensively and knew that a mammoth hunt required precision and teamwork. He divided the party into three groups: the distractors, the flankers, and the lookouts. The distractors would face the creature, making feigned attacks to keep its attention while the flankers approached from the sides and the back, delivering swift, strategic strikes to the animal’s weaker points.

The distractors stepped forward, their spears glinting in the sun. The mammoth’s small eyes met William’s, and he saw a flicker of intelligence that sent a shiver down his spine. He knew the creature would not go down easily. The flankers waited, their muscles coiled like springs, for their moment to strike. The creature roared, a sound that echoed through the barren landscape, and William gave the signal. The dance of death began.

The distractors moved with a choreographed grace, feinting and retreating, their shadows playing tag with the mammoth’s massive form. It swung its mighty tusks, each a lethal weapon capable of goring a man with ease. The hunters darted aside, their movements a blur of fur and steel. Meanwhile, the flankers took their opportunities, each sprinting in and out of range, delivering precise jabs to the creature’s vulnerable points. The mammoth’s roars grew more desperate as it tried to focus on the ever-shifting threats.

The lookouts, perched on the crest of a nearby hill, kept vigilant watch for any sign of a counter-attack from the creature’s kin. Their eyes scanned the horizon, unblinking, as the battle unfolded below. A gust of icy wind picked up, carrying with it a faint scent of danger—a warning that the beast’s herd might be approaching. The tension grew palpable as the hunters worked in unison, their breaths quickening in anticipation of the moment when the mammoth would falter.

The creature’s steps grew slower, its mighty trunk drooping with exhaustion. William’s brothers-in-law, their faces contorted with a mix of fear and determination, struck again and again. The mammoth’s fur grew dark with its own blood, but still, it did not fall. With a bellow that seemed to shake the very earth beneath their feet, it lunged towards William, its eyes filled with rage and pain. He stood firm, his spear at the ready, his instincts honed from countless battles in his former life.

He saw the opening and took it. With a swiftness that belied his human form, William darted forward, planting his weapon into the soft flesh behind the creature’s ear. The mammoth staggered, its massive frame quivering as the others descended upon it, their spears finding home in its thick hide.