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I remember you don’t much care for coming inside or being inside caves.”

Jogoo crowed once more, stating he appreciated this, and Tazama understood him as soundly as he did when he communicated with a pet wolf or dog.

He departed.

The former paced about in the usual manner crows do while musing over how paradoxical a creature Tazama and his ilk were.

Clearly, or so he asserted, they did appear to possess a reasonable degree of higher intelligence. Why they were against putting this to use in a manner that was ultimately beneficial to themselves and those things and other creatures around them, was a question that addled his mind.

Tazama returned with Bosi.

Four other men who were with the latter when Tazama brought news of Jogoo’s visit came with him.

Bosi removed the note from around his ankle and read it.

“What does it say?” Tazama asked.

“Shetani discovered Kimbilio,” he replied, and all faces grew glum before he could finish speaking.

“They must fear an attack is to come,” Bosi added.

“And, who wouldn’t?” Tazama replied.

“I will be back shortly,” said Bosi, a scribe, who hurriedly went back to the cave and wrote the words, “Our home is yours. Come if you are in fear,” onto a piece of paper, then he returned and affixed it to Jogoo’s leg.

The bird took to the sky, and the men watched it fly toward the horizon.

“What message did you send?” Tazama asked.

“I bid them come this way,” Bosi replied.

“Can we accommodate that many?” Tazama asked. “I understand they are several thousand now.”

“They can populate the valleys,” Bosi replied. “We can reestablish a Sanctuary here.”

“And, then what?” Thoroughmann, Bosi’s brother, asked.

“What do you mean?” his sibling replied.

“If they were to come here, when the Shetani realizes we are all in one location, they will, or with the necromancer’s aid, seek to eliminate us in one swoop,” he replied. “Just like they did at Sanctuary.”

“We don’t know that is what happened there,” Bosi said.

“We don’t need to know or have detailed accounts of all of the specifics,” Thoroughmann returned. “History has shown we can’t afford to risk being concentrated in one spot.”

“And, we won’t risk that,” Bosi said.

“How so, provided they come here?” his brother asked.

Bosi looked him in the eye.

“It looks to me like the time is approaching when we will finally unite, organize, and fight,” he said. “Fight to exist here and anywhere we choose to be within reason.

“I eagerly await the crow’s return and will welcome the arrival of our brethren, provided they do come.”

Thoroughmann thought about what he said.

“I believe all the ages we spent here suffering from a sterile and tedious existence which threatened to drive some mad and did so, was not in vain,” Bosi added. “The time has come to put that which we’ve learned, that which helped us pass the time, to use.”

What they learned was the concept of an afterlife was very real, but in their wildest imagination, none could have conceived it was quite like their newfound experiences.

The skeptics where they were from consequently continued with the most subtle or overtly nefarious practices unfettered, for there was never going to be any repercussion as far as they knew.

“Do you really believe it’s providence?” Thoroughmann asked, since Bosi’s remarks conjured images of the toil they endured and brought to mind stories he’d heard from souls confined to damnation long before his arrival, tales in which they spoke about never-ending battles with one of their greatest adversaries, ever-present boredom so imposing and all-encompassing, it challenged their resolve to face it and survive without losing their minds.

However, it was that same boredom and curiosity that led to the advancement of their technology.

It led to their discovery of nearby ores. It is what led them to learn how to extract and temper them and fashion them into fine tools and weapons. It was what turned many of those who knew nothing about stonework into some of the finest masons around.

It, combined with a propensity for mischief, led their peers in the forested regions near the plains to develop a big game hunting practice.

At least, compared to their victims, or their adversaries, the Shetani, it was a big game.

Recall these were men robbed of the ability to enjoy pleasures associated with the palate. Men with no need to consume anything for nourishment, yet they suffered from no ill effects.

Food was the last thing on their minds when they slew big savannah cats and other beasts of the plains. Magnificent and powerful creatures like giraffe and wildebeest were slaughtered for fun or target practice, and in the forest, apes of all varieties, gorillas, orangutans, chimpanzees, etcetera, were slain for amusement.

Valuing what one took for granted was a matter Thoroughmann heard his peers speak of. He felt he grew to appreciate what they meant.

In his world of sand, rock and stone, wood, and that element from which wood is derived—that is to say trees and forests—were perhaps valued only slightly less than the air they breathed.

After all, wood was what they so heavily relied on to make the handles for the tools, knives, swords, battleaxes, and other weapons they needed for combat.

Wood is what they relied on to make the poles at whose end they wrapped a bit of cloth to ignite and thereby create torches to help guide them through the darkness of their caves. And, wood is what they relied on to make those enormous catapults they positioned facing the marshland that lay just beyond them.

It was unlikely any enemy would approach by trying to navigate through the marshes, but in the event they did, they were prepared to hurl projectiles, huge rocks toward them, mindful that a misstep to one’s left or right while attempting to avoid being hit, would be sure to suck one down into the bog.

Thoroughmann’s fellowmen to the south, in their expansive world of greenery, valued the ores that were so abundant where he lived. They valued that and the knowledge of how to fashion them into tools and weapons.

This interest in

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