As most of you know, I am old. And old people like to tell stories.
I know we have a Poetry thread, but I don't write much poetry, and I didn't see a Creative Writing thread. If there is one, could someone please direct me to it? Also, if it turns out that way, maybe this thread could become the Creative Writing thread.
Either way, I will now subject you this:
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Long, Long Ago
The sun was setting on another glorious day of hunting, and the people of Clan Al-Batu were gathered around the fire for an evening of food, song and fellowship. Some of the younger warriors danced energetically in their brightly colored hides, trying to impress the females. Small children chased each other around. The adults engaged in animated conversation.
In the shadows off to one side, Raan, the clan's greatest warrior, lay nearly motionless with his head in the lap of his mate, Mikkal. Raan had returned late yesterday, badly injured and without his spear. Everybody knew what this meant, though of course no one spoke of it. Mikkal quietly tended to his injuries. Raan's face looked damp, or perhaps it was a trick of the light.
Suddenly, a tall figure stepped out of the brush, holding a huge spear over his head. He wore plain hides with symbols burned into them, which identified him as Clan Muka-Ra, whose land bordered that of Clan Al-Batu. A border that was often disputed.
"I INVOKE THE ANCIENT LAW!" he bellowed. The clearing went silent as the stranger looked around, making eye contact with some, glancing past others.
"I invoke the Ancient Law!" he repeated. "The one law that all clans have honored since the beginning of days. I found THIS near the Field of the Great Oak!" He cast the spear to the ground before him. Everyone looked at the spear, and recognized it.
The Spear of Raan!
"And who are you?" said a voice, aged but with a quiet strength and no trace of fear. Laiman, the Clan Leader, rose from his seat among his advisors and faced the stranger. He wore hides that were multi-colored, but subdued, as befitting his station.
The stranger turned to him. "I am Toko, of Clan Muka-Ra."
"I am Laiman, Leader of Clan Al-Batu." Laiman looked over at the injured Raan, who had heard the commotion and turned to face the group. "Raan," asked Laiman, "do you recognize this?" He gestured toward the spear lying on the ground.
"Yes," said Raan, trying to sound stronger than he truly felt. "I lost it the other day. I was--"
Laiman held up a hand to silence him. There were some murmurs among the adults. Mikkal gave Raan a sharp look. Raan did not return the gaze.
Then Toko of Clan Muka-Ra spoke the ancient words: "Finders... Keepers."
Laiman looked at him, and nodded. "The spear is yours." There were some muffled gasps, but none dared challenge the wisdom of Laiman.
Toko picked up the spear. Suddenly he tossed it up and grabbed it with both hands, as if to wield it, but he was only testing his grip against the weight of the enormous spear. He looked at it, seemingly for the first time. It was a beautiful, well-crafted spear. It fit his hands well.
"Cool!" he said, smiling and nodding appreciatively. "Thanks!" He turned and disappeared into the darkness. Laiman sat back down and resumed clan business with his advisors. Eventually, conversation and activity resumed, and the evening proceeded without further incident.
In the shadows, with no eyes upon them, Mikkal said to Raan, "Shame on you! Speaking out of turn like that. And to the Clan Leader!"
"I fell down a damned ravine!" Raan cried, as though that excused his behavior. "What was I supposed to--"
"Oh shut up, you big baby!" said Mikkal. "You know the law. It is his now."
"Yes," Raan conceded. "It is his now."
He sighed, turned away from the fire, and wept.
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Feedback is welcomed.