Wednesday, March 6, 2013
"It was worse than previous walks out in the glacier's terminus as even though the winds were partially shielded by the vertical glacier walls, there were no trails back to the habitat. All day there had been sign of Mammoth, and even the newly driven snows had still craters of footfall from a lone and injured bull. Shifting now from one hand to another were his bundle of lances, tipped with gemstone blades, more than adequate to put down the greatest land beasts in the Ice Age. Bending low into the oncoming winds that ricochet off the walls of ice send him reeling to the drifts of snow cemented in ice as the northern lights play with the reflections in prisms that challenge the most efficient snow goggles sculpted in ivory. The smell of camp smoke, laced within the searing cold, took him home, even though empty handed, success awaited the hunter with the laughter of children and warm oil lamp reflecting the many faces of the interior of his house braced in tusks and bone, ten thousand cycles around the sun."