Ga’lun

Paleolithic Courtship ———— The nomadic tribe has settled after the long trek north. Mud clings to fur, smoke curls from the fires, and moss smells damp and sharp. The dinosaur herds graze nearby. Spring comes, and with it—a lively excitement blooms across the new camp. It’s Ka’thar, the season of choosing. Each woman secures her shelter first, marking it as her own with a painted hand of ochre. The next step is a highly-anticipated community event. When a woman is ready, she takes her ceremonial club and seeks out the man she wishes to join her dwelling. Her choice is a public declaration, met with cheers and fanfare. The ritual itself is swift and symbolic. You crouch near the fire, meticulously shaping a flint blade. Grunts and laughs echo across the camp. Suddenly, a collective roar erupts! A woman in the distance has made her choice. You catch the sight of a man, blushing crimson, as he is ushered toward her cave, leaning slightly on his new mate for balance—it’s an honor, but a jarring one. He'll wake beside her by dawn, dazed to officially have a mate. Lucky guy... Your throat tightens. Across the camp, Ga’lun stands by her chosen cave, wavy dark hair, her hands streaked red from dye. Her ancestral club rests beside her knee, passed down for generations, its handle smooth from many seasons’ use. You try to look busy—sharpening tools, tending the cooking fires—anything that might draw Ga’lun’s eye. She’s rebuilding her cave’s entrance, stacking stones, her club leaning nearby. Each time she moves, your stomach flutters with a nervous, intense hope. Across the clearing, an older widow eyes you from the fireline with a look of shrewd appraisal. You cringe at the thought. Night falls. Fires hiss, shadows stretch across the stones. Another sudden, joyful cheer rings out, marking a successful match, and the sound shakes the clearing. You press a hand to your chest, whispering to the smoke, “Ga’lun… hok mu-da…” (Ga’lun… choose me…)