Some of them with children, others simply mangled; —he'd steal the wives from the Horde and to tell you the truth, if one of the males went to help, he would die along side of her, so very seldom would they help their mate because of this. Actually it never occurred to us to try and gang-up on him I suppose, for we never did, not sure why, yet we were all complaining to one another about this. Most of the males felt their day would not come so why get involved, but it did come, and they did have to share their wives. I don't think there was a woman he didn't rape in the whole Horde, sooner or later that is. One might simply conclude: who could stop him, and it would be no one.

Part Six

9

Big-chest

In our Horde, we had no leader as I tried to imply before, and Big-chest was only considered the dominated one, being he was the largest of all of us in the Horde, and of all the Branch-People, matter-of fact, he was the largest in the known world I would think—excluding the Tiamat of course, for I never saw any thinking being larger than him; and by no means was he a leader like the People of the Fire had; I've seen a young strong looking male once among the Fire People—other than the witch doctor, otherwise known as the Begetter: anyhow, this young person, strong looking, like a bull, possibly the Begetters son, he pointed his fingers and several of the People of the Fire obeyed him, just jumped at his command, did what he was told. He had no name that I knew of so I nick-named him Kcihc—that is what we called the chickens that ran around wild, for he looked like a chicken, and when he danced he had fathers all about him like a chicken, and like his -I think father—he ran around like a chicken. And the Stone-Builders did the same to even a more stern extreme, they actually, I really mean this, they totally lost it, they bowed to a male who looked like them and even laid on the ground begging him for a blessing, to spare their lives, for this and for that reason; he never even did an ounce of work—these two kings, other than lift his finger and point, saying: "OK,” or "This shall be so,” as others protected him. Had either one of those so called kings been in our group, they'd have starved to death out of indolence. The other thought I had was: why did he need protection? It was most chilling to see people controlled resembling ants. He wasn't even half as big as Big-chest. I think he needed protection because he forced the people with other people to do for him, what he wouldn't or couldn't do for himself. Matter of fact, I could have pushed him around if he didn't have people protecting him. But I've seen it with my own very eyes, I mean I never even took a glance to the right or left it was so shocking, I just stared in wonderment, paralyzed to the arrogant leader, and so did my friend Little-eyes, he was almost laughing at the people that called him King, and some other high esteem words. He just bullied people to call him king, and so he was. We both couldn't figure out why the people needed him to lead them, for what; lead them where—they were already here? To go to war, to kill, to bring him food, when they had little themselves, and to be quite honest, the King had more than they, and did less. For the life of me this will remain a mystery. They went to war for land, when they had so much of it. But they didn't care to have this or that land, then wanted land ever one else was on.

Little-eyes and I told one another we'd never let this happen to us, that should some crazy people want us to bow and run around and kill other people for them, and feed them, and all that kind of stuff, we'd go hide and never let them find us. To add water to fire, Owl-ears once told me something I'd not yet forgot, she said,

"Some pleasure, if not all pleasure brings with it a reflex experience of regret and remorse—kind of a finality after all is said and done.” Then she sadly added, "For our Horde, the price of peace and being passive maybe extinction,” an undeniable path I said to myself when I heard them words. But she knew as I knew, you can't change what is inbreed into a culture, that is to say, you can make the person do the motions, but that does not necessarily mean they are thinking as you are.

In any case, Big-chest was to be feared not this puny king who could not even defend himself with a rock, and no one, I mean no one could overcome Big-chest. I kind of wish the King would go for a long walk in the woods and bump into Big-chest, and then we'd see who did the bowing—but that is my other nature talking, my evil side I do believe. In any case, should my wish come true that is, the king and Big-chest ever meet the wars would stop for everyone I bet. Maybe not, maybe they'd, they'd have war with Big-chest then, and just find another king to bow to. It is similar to the grass-hopper leading the wolf-boars.

We lived in strange times I'd tell my mother, and she'd smile, and say [in her symbolic way: gestures, sounds, with a few words]:

'Look at me, do you see me getting all shook-up for this little stuff, let it be, you'll die before your time otherwise:' she made sense, but things still bothered me, besides the high side of it all, by getting a good laugh with Little-eyes out of it, was due compensation. It is funny, as I think about our world, our groups within the world, when I look in the faces of all them, that is, all them different groups faces, cultural-faces, whatever, or however we are to call them, I see in the faces of the Fire People: eyes and mouths of fire and steel, and when I look at the Stone-Builders I see eyes of unbending steal and fiercest punishment waiting. And when I look into the Hordes eyes I see boyish eyes. The ugliest savage of them all being the Begetter, with his gazing eyes, sobering breath, grotesqueness as if he was a heroic figure; his antagonist seemingly being the heavens and the all creatures on earth—save for one: his son. Now the Begetters eyes could creep into yours like soft due, [Short-legs gives an uneasy laugh], yes and then he'd burn them out of you like a bonfire.

As I was about to say, before I got too much involved with eyes and the Begetter, and so on: the Stone-Builders situation, he: Big-chest: was wild, arrogant, and strong, I mean strong, I mean real strong, I say as strong as any four of us men in the Horde. Matter-of-fact, I doubt any of the Stone-Builders, I mean not even one, could have beaten Big-chest, yet Big-chest did not make noises when they were around, he feared their long metal swords, and metal spears, arrows with metal tips. They were a deadly bunch, and had no pity on killing anyone that was not of their kind. They were cleaver, more so than we, and smarter of course; none the less, Big-chest was sly, that is to say, he'd sneak down to where the Stone-Builders were, and the People of the Fire nested, and steal a female now and then. He would find them washing themselves after taking their skins of clothing off: in the pond most likely they'd be, or picking berries, or even feeding their children with their breasts, and he'd snatch them akin to a piece of fruit from a tree, drag them into the woods and rape them. Big-chest tried to limit this activity to the Horde and the People of the Fire, but couldn't resist the new-breed, the Stone-Builders, now and then, and found himself at the outside walls of their fortresses waiting for whoever would walk astray. Having said that let me add: sometimes he'd even take them back to his tree, or his cave by us. Some of them he'd let go after weeks of toying with them, or they'd figure out a way how to get away from him, if he didn't kill them first. The females he took from the People of the Fire were more cleaver than he as were the Stone-Builders more cleaver than the Fire People: and once given the chance to figure things out they often made their escape. He did keep some women for longer periods of time and that is when they made their escape with less harm I might add, for he did show pity now and then; --and had children with them, but sooner or later he'd abandon them, as he abandoned everybody, feasibly that is why he was living a long life, longer than all of us.

The People of the Fire, looked high and low for him at times, but Big-chest was always on the run and eluded them, as he did everybody, everywhere, all the time, no matter what. If they came in twos, he'd sneak up on them in the middle of the night, for he could see well in the dark, and like the Bat-Birds, the Flying-Lizards Suckers, he'd crush their heads with stones or rip their heads off their necks, or rip their arms off their bodies; some got away with body parts missing, others were his next meal; actually, sometimes the odds were even greater than two against one, sometimes: three and four and even five—now and again he'd even hide in our Banana Cave: and once in my cave he hid [with the hunters after him with weapons].

I and Little-eyes slept elsewhere then—during these episodes: no need to provoke a giant unless need be. Big-chest could hardly get in through the entrance of our cave though, that being of his hugeness, and often ended up bruising himself: if not at the same time, ripping some of his bushy hair off his: arms, chest, or butt. He would not harm us as long as we did not pester him, or try to take women from him. Reminiscent of all men, or most men, he had his urges, or nature: his drive for sex, but he had more than his share.

It did cause trouble for us though, that is, Big-chest using our caves for his hideout, his getaway: his home away from home—for by and by, the People of the Fire would come looking for him—instead they'd find us, thinking we were harboring him, and in a way, I suppose-I presume we were, but we had little choice in the matter, yet none of us ventured to show to the enemy where Big-chest was—even though they had brought upon us a coma of death, that is, we did not point his cave out; --in any case, they'd throw arrows into our caves, and spears, and often times would wound a few of us; and now and then—kill a few of us: payback for his dirty dealings.

Again, there was nothing I, Short-legs or for that matter, any of the Horde could do concerning such matters: do what? Possibly tell him: "Say, Big-chest go or else!” or else what? You see. Nothing could be done or said. If they found the Branch-People resting in the trees, again out of revenge, they'd shoot an arrow into the tall-leafy trees, killing or wounding them, it didn't matter who, just butchery: again I believe for retribution on behalf of this ongoing menace, or threat, which was becoming part of our history as well as theirs, --with no aim, just our history in particular with Big-chest.

[The Dreamer, Dreaming] As the years passed, Short-legs and Little-eyes became of full maturity, at which time, --more stone structures were being built by the descendants of Eve. And conflicts, otherwise known as wars worsen, even among themselves. The Stone-Builders didn't see them as urgent, not even critical: just a means to an end, a beginning, a fulfilled need, want: reasonable, no:

Said Little-eyes,

"I suppose we're next:” meaning to be conquered—as far as he could see, they were not even worthy of conquering to the Stone-Builders [the Horde], --of course, that is only my view: but that is exactly as I saw it. They were going on among themselves, doing what they had always done. As it seemed to them [the Horde], everyone else wanted to be a: chief, the person in charge, the boss, the so called king of the Stone-Builders, as well as leader of the People of the Fire; this was the gossip of the Horde (and so envy and jealousy was born—crept into the world, or at least this is when the Horde first become aware of it ((if not born at this stage of human evolution, at least it was something new for the Horde to observe, as it reach its costly heights)): and within this gossip came bewilderment, the lack of understanding of the price one had to pay for having another bow to them, not even sure what good that was the for—the bow, or did for anyone, as it has already been mentioned, and the king hid from his people fort hey also tried to kill him to become king, it seem to be a distortion someplace hidden in all these lies. They already bowed to many so called gods,--and here they were bowing to this one person they called king, or leader, as if he had done them a favor, when in essence, they were running all over the place for him, and working for him like crazy, and he did nothing in return but point his finger: very baffling. Yet, somehow, they were dominating the whole known world, to include the Horde's world: so the bow must entangle some kind of dominate spell, so thought the Horde.

[Short-legs—comments] I do believe they believed [the Stone-Builders], they were building a new and powerful civilization, and acted as if they had captured the heavens in their arms, and was in control, in control of everything, but they were finding out they were mealy abandoning peace for the battle-cry, and killing everyone in the process, and being killed in the procedure—even the kings.

The Branch-People were often times killed by them out of sport or practice, and as their wars continued, inexpugnable, they now were taking the People of the Fire as slaves, for replacements towards their military needs. No one knew what it was all about, not at least with the Branch-People or us in the Horde. We only knew we were in danger. And no one had a way of figuring out its outcome. We'd go down to the Banana Cave and yell, jump and get our anger out over the killings of our folks of the Horde by the People of the Fire, and now the Stone-Builders. The Stone-Builders thought we were half-breeds of the Branch-People, and did not take us for: slaves, or as a serious threat, or even valuable—rather, they played with us for sport, and then killed us, and let our carcasses rot where they lay most of the time. It was the coming of the end of the world for us: no reason to think otherwise.

I, Short-legs would sit on top of the cliff overlooking the valley below, my valley I'd call it, and the sense of extermination seemed to pass through my blood, my veins, my little hard black pupils, would expand as I thought about the death of the Horde, and I'd just sit and think, think, and think…

[As Short-legs, reach over to the water he had put alongside him in a container on top the cliff , he seen the reflection of his eyes in the water, and then as his chest would UN-tighten his pupils would get bigger, he couldn't name the logic, only feel it. It was a sad expression that hit his bowels, innards, his stomach's insides, and dried his throat; it wasn't natural for him or his Horde to kill for sport. He knew the Stone-Builders had a capacity to reason beyond his capability, but this wasn't logical-reasoning he told himself; --they, the Horde, really had no place to go. And in lack of any reasoning beyond formal-reasoning, he knew they'd have to allow their extinction, looking about in the dim light that covered the cliffs—his lovely beautiful cliffs, his sanctuary, his place for meditation. With his last fleeting thoughts: Short-legs knew it was hard enough to outsmart the People of the Fire, let alone take on the intelligence of the Stone-Builders—even Big-chest knew better, other than crushing their skulls when it was dark, or if he'd happen to run into them by accident; and so options were really only wasteful hope, or wishful thinking at best.]

10

Big-chest and the Lion

The Man-eaters [as Short-legs called them], as they were known, otherwise called: lions, jaguars, tigers along with other names, depending on who was doing the calling, seemed to have acquired a thirst to hunt for prey more; were searching more in numbers now for a victim, --in view of the fact that the Garden was opened, in actuality, they were not much different than the new breed, the: "The Stone-Builders.” As Short-legs now had made the connection being between these two groups, animal and human, he saw they had no second thoughts about killing the members of our Horde, nor the Branch-People for that matter; rather they both seemed to harbor thoughts and acts as if they were summoned to do so, a duty that had to be announced; as a result, with this in mind, all the inhabitants who got slain in and around the Horde's habituate became beastly trophies to them; -- they [the Stone-Builders] even ate [like the cats] the flesh off the victims, in a similar way to how the lions did, unbelievable; and on the other hand, the Stone-Builders killed the lions, as the lions tried to kill them likewise.

Indefatigable patience is how Short-legs had seen it, on the part of the Folk in the Horde, along with several others of the Branch-People, who were terrified in a way of the new invaders of the land, the new neighbors, and their fathomless predator style of hunting, yes untiring patience. But what other choice was there? It was enough, they said: that we have to contend with all the other beasts of the land, and now to add a much more intellectual-beast to the list was down right horrifying. They were a threat more serious than the famine or the plague that had vanquished the land in the past.

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