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It was an age before Man knew time.


She clenched the low hanging branch and, with an agonizing scream, gave a final push. The bloody warm bundle slipped out and flopped on the soft snow. The shock of the misty wet ground startled the child to life. A boy!

In their tongue, he answered to Kynge. His father was a stocky violent man and devoured all the meat, leaving discards for the boy and his mother. When the boy grew older, his father chased him away from the warmth of their cave.

Even at that age, Kynge knew his father to be a fool, for the boy had studied the wolf, their pack skills. He also climbed trees with the agility of a hunting cat and was just as swift. And, he was stealth itself. On the very first day as a nomad, perched on a tree, he dropped a heavy rock on the head of a deer passing below, stunning it with the blow. He landed smoothly on the ground and, even as the wretched animal flayed its legs, Kynge cracked its skull with a club. The deer stiffened before going limp. Tearing the flesh with sharp stones and teeth, he gorged.

And as the winters passed, Kynge’s shoulders bulked like a bear and he remained swift in the hunt and killed fast.

When Kynge came upon family groups, he would kill the men and take their women for his own. Quite often he would take in the children, for he knew this rendered the women obedient, especially since he also fed them well.

Young nomad boys, chased out into the cold, came to seek warmth at his fire. He accepted the boys and trained them hard in the skills of the hunt and the laying of traps. After the first few winters, his clan was always well fed and protected. In time, the ghostly forests whispered his name.

Soon, men with families came for protection, offering a daughter or pelts in payment. And Kynge’s tribe grew, as did his store of furs and precious implements and flint tipped weapons. He was the alpha and they were his pack.

His descendants were called Kings.

### Copyright @ Eric Alagan, 2017 ###