Neanderthals and cave bear, Rod Ruth, c. 1974The cave is flooded with sound—the roar of the to

Neanderthals and cave bear, Rod Ruth, c. 1974

The cave is flooded with sound—the roar of the torches, the howls of the men, the cry of the bear, the clatter of the stones, the echoes off the walls. The smoke blinds, chokes, intensifies the noise and the violence. 

The bear’s eyes glint from the flames. She is losing. Blood seeps through the fur of her head. One leg will not move as it should; a boulder crushed it. The cave was quiet and dark before these gibbering fire-holders came—the only warmth was her own, the only sound was her heartbeat. Then fire and stones and sticks rained down. At first it was confusing, now it is terrifying. Another rock strikes her and sparks cloud her vision. The cave feels small now, or rather, it feels as if it’s getting smaller, folding, slowly, steadily, finally, like a great eye closing to go to sleep.