Harmony

The weather was nice, food was plentiful, and life was peaceful.

Of course, this could not last. 

It happened slowly, at first, so no one even knew what was happening. 

First, one of our great hunters slipped and broke his ankle. It wasn’t even during a hunt, he was just bathing himself in the river and slipped on a wet rock. It wasn’t serious, he was definitely going to live, but it was going to stop him from hunting for a few months.

We still had food and plenty of hunters. His wife proved herself to be quite the natural, running a boar down by herself. And he was quite fine, after a bit of grumbling and whining, looking after the elders and children. 

But then our little copse of trees caught fire. We don’t know exactly what happened, but I suspect it was one of the kids. This one little girl was so curious and inquisitive, she was often caught playing with snakes and lizards. I suspected she lit a twig on fire, but lost control when it burnt her fingers. 

Not a big set back since we had only arrived a few months ago. It was just annoying. I had made a little shelter out of some large leaves, and was working on making a nice chair out of a stump. 

Finding a new place to settle down was going to be a right pain in the ass. Nothing dangerous or life threatening, but really irritating. Especially for the former great hunter, who whined and bickered whenever we travelled. I think he was more embarrassed by his wife proving to be a skilled hunter. And his wife, who grew more bold after discovering her prowess, lost all patience with him.

The rest of us found it quite humorous. The biggest man of the tribe, hanging on another’s shoulder, whining about the uneven road, only to be interrupted by a slap to the back of the head by this tiny little woman.

Of course, there was no actual bad blood. The entire tribe could attest to that whenever we slept. Or at least, we tried to sleep.

After a few days walking, we finally found another suitable place to settle down. This one was even better than the last. We were right next to the river, a couple of large leafy trees provided shade, and there were even berry bushes. 

Again, everything was quite peaceful. The water was clear, the trees were shady, and the berries were delicious. Even the ex-hunter himself stopped complaining and just played with the kids. 

But of course, as they say, misfortune comes in threes. This time it was a pregnant mother who fell ill. This is, sadly, not that uncommon, and is part of the reason why we revere mothers. Even during our little sojourn, the large men always carried pregnant women. They needed all their energy to construct that little human.

But this was odd. One of the elders examined her, and could find no obvious problems. There were no wounds, no swelling, no rashes, no fever, just a declining of health. 

No one knew what to do. Our elders had never experienced anything like this, and the woman herself was getting sicker and sicker.

It took only a few days for her to die. In the meantime, her husband was inconsolable. Throughout their partnership, they were inseparable. Where one went, the other was not far behind. This was taken to the extreme during her pregnancy, with the man never more than a few feet from her at any time. 

Of course, the husband was devastated. He obsessed over every moment they were separate. Even brief moments weighed on his conscience. There was a moment as we were travelling when he picked a series of flowers and weaved them into a wreath. She, of course, was delighted, and held onto it until she died. 

He would spend days at a time staring at this physical manifestation of his love, and convinced himself that she had fallen ill while he made it. Despair turned to anger, and anger to rage. When a woman tried to comfort him, he lashed out and almost hit her. 

Nobody blamed him, of course, but this moment shocked him to his core. Confiding in me, he admitted that during that moment, the woman’s face morphed in that of his late wife.

He left shortly afterwards. 

The next morning, the former great hunter and his wife had a fight. This wasn’t the usual bickering or whining, but something serious. He said something that actually insulted her, and she struck his broken ankle with a rock. Furious, he struck her in the head with his fist, drawing blood.

Fighting was not uncommon. Sometimes the men would wrestle each other to impress the women. When tribes grow enough, there would be increased tensions that would culminate in a huge brawl that left the tribe torn in twain. 

But in all those cases, no blood was intentionally drawn. Bruising, yes, but no actual blood. That wasn’t how things were done here. Anytime there was blood drawn between two combatants, the aggressor was often the first to administer first aid. Fights are never conducted with the aim to wound or kill, but to demonstrate fitness or determination.

As soon as blood fell on the ground, silence fell upon the tribe. None of us knew what was happening. A young woman came to tend to the wife, but was brushed aside. I turned to look at the hunter, whose eyes were flaming with anger. 

I coughed, breaking the silence and indicating that I was about to speak. As soon as I opened my mouth, the wife fled, running into the darkness of the night. 

A young man chased after her, but was too slow. Merely seconds after the chase began, the man lost sight of her. 

Everyone collectively turned to the hunter, some shouting accusations, some were getting violent. It took our eldest speaker to calm everyone down, before he started questioning the hunter. 

The hunter refused to answer any questions. Not from the elder, not from me, not even from his brothers. The few times he spoke, he asked for his wife. When someone explained that she left, he asked where.

When the questioning became heated, the hunter stood up. His face screwed up in pain, blood pouring from his ankle, he started walking. We all watched stunned, as we heard bone grinding and splintering in his ankle, as he walked for the first time in two weeks. 

I stood up and grabbed him by the shoulder, but he slashed me with a knapped rock. The sharp stone sliced my hand, blood spilling on the ground. The hunter continued to walk, seemingly oblivious to the wound he caused. 

Another man started after the hunter, but I stopped him. Clearly the hunter did not want to be followed, and chasing after him would only lead to more bloodshed.

Annoyed, I let a young girl tend to my hand. The pain was intense, much more than the wound itself would suggest. 

My bandage was tightly applied, and I knew better than to disturb the healing. Sleep would not come easily. My hand itched. I tossed and turned, having to consciously stop myself from scratching my hand. Eventually my body succumbed to my exhaustion and fell asleep.

When morning came, I awoke, tired and wearied. The tribe was standing around me. This worried me. I followed their gazes, and looked at my hand. 

My hand was green. It was not infected, I had seen many of those. My hand, and parts of my forearm, were a bright green not unlike the leafy bandage. I reached down and cautiously touched my palm. It felt exactly like a leaf. 

I tried bending my fingers. They would not move. I tried lifting my arm, but nothing happened. Something was wrong.

I started to panic. Grabbing my hand, I tried to lift it up, only to find it was stuck to the ground. Something was holding onto my hand, keeping me from rising. Digging into the dirt, I found my hand extended into the ground. I grabbed a stone and tried to cut the substance, only to recoil in pain. I could feel the damage being dealt to the substance as if it was my own skin.

I asked for help, but my tribemates backed away. I tried to stand up, but fell forward, my hand still glued to the ground.

I was crying. Something was wrong. I needed help, but no one was helping me. This wasn’t right, we always helped each other. But everyone kept their distance.

Then I felt a sharp blow to the back of my head. I felt blood running down the back of my head. I slumped forward. I was bleeding quite profusely. Looking behind me, I didn’t see the bright crimson indicative of blood. Instead, I saw a thick green slime on the ground. Using my free hand, I felt the back of my skull and brought it to my face.

As soon as I saw my hand, slick with green slime, I felt another blow, and darkness consumed me.