Chapter 03

Journey up and over

They'd barely been over the first ridge. (1000)

Mahalaleel looked forward to their next stop, when he could sit and treat his tired muscles to a warm beverage, and perhaps a song or two; being on the trail, there wasn’t much time, or energy, for music – and he missed that.  Having passed his sixth century five years ago, Mahalaleel wasn’t the only one who couldn’t help but to be somewhat amazed at Great Grandfather Seth’s stamina – the group’s oldest elder was five years shy of being three quarters into his eighth century.  Of course, they’d only left their community behind, three days previous - and had a long journey ahead - but it was almost like grandfather was trekking circles around men three hundred years his junior.  Mahalaleel had also noticed such was about the same with Great Grandmother – while traveling among the women, a dragonfly had caught onto and displaced her headpiece; in short, her long hair was more auburn than gray. Quickly, the lady rewound and covered her tresses.  A trend here? It was as if six hundred was the new nine hundred.  Made sense, for Pastor Jason had given a sermon, shortly before the group’s departure, concerning the Fall’s compounding effects over time, upon not only the mind, but also the body. 

His stomach growled, it wanted, of all things, a piece of his wife’s pineapple upside down cake – but that wasn’t going to happen, not for a while.  He reached into a pocket and drew out a piece of broken rice and bean cake.  Bland as all get-out, but he - as well as everyone else - would have to get used to trail-fare.  At present, however, his mind, wasn’t cooperating; instead, his memory drifted back to Great, Great Grandmother Eve’s peach pie.  The particular recollection was but a typical family gathering; Great, Great Grandfather Adam had just finished plowing a field; seated at table, with knife in hand, he was ready to dig in.  The table was laden with all sorts of breads, fruits, lentils; upon the sideboard sat a dozen various pastries.  At the time, both Adam and Eve were into their nineth century.

What time was it?  Within the thick forest, the only accessible clocks were the calls of birds and beasts.   It was only coming on late afternoon.  It would be a while before having to find a place to settle in for the night – and gather wood, and plenty of it; lest the fire light grow weak, and certain beasts take the opportunity to snag an easy meal – the sort which neither has horn nor tusk, with which to fight back.  Also, to gather whatever provender for the animals they’d brought with them – hard pass, where the trees grew close, for there wasn’t much grass.  The calls, chirps, scamperings also provided the sub-group of forty or so, with the means of telling approximate topographical location.  There was, however, less positive messages, earlier in the day, two dire wolves had growled a less than gentle reminder to the people to not forget their place - as landless peasants at the mercy of their four-footed betters. 

The following morning, the camp had gotten off to a later start, for the previous day, they’d been huffing it - away from the dire’s territory.  Lamech was chewing upon a blade of grass, and generally keeping an eye on the surrounding forest, when he laid eyes upon ... another surprise.   It being barely mid-morning, the trail behind them had was already growing back in, covering the path worn by both human and animal feet - and cart wheel imprints.  How th'...?  Among the leafy growth, more than a few young briars - the nasty kind - peeked from underneath.  It looked like creeper-vine, but out here, probably a more aggressive sibling; that’s what their healer had said; and if anybody knew, it would be her.  The part of him which had begun to debate with himself, whether or not, he'd made the right decision, had concluded, there certainly was left but one way: forward.

"And the LORD God prepared a gourd, and made it to come up over Jonah, that it might be a shadow over his head, to deliver him from his grief.  So Jonah was exceeding glad of the gourd."  Jonah 4:6

By mid-afternoon,

The people took a break, one long enough to give themselves, and their animals, some refreshment.  Meanwhile, about thirty furlongs (about four miles) or so, in the glade before them, and just a bit off to their right, a female mountain gorilla was looking for her youngster.  At some two or three years old, her little one was starting to explore his world; keeping up with him, to ensure his safety, was becoming a full-time job – and some. He’d been, only a moment ago, pulling a young shoot from a bush, which grew just beyond the edge of the small clearing. She sniffed the air. Something was wrong.   Toward her left side, she heard a twig snap, and a rustle of leaves.  She turned around, peering into the foliage.  She sensed an intruder - watching.  She struggled against panic setting in, because that wouldn't be helpful.  She called for her mate, while continuing her search.

The people were back on their feet, continuing their way, overhead, around the middle of the column, a largish bird of prey flew from a nearby tree, heading in a northeasterly direction.  A moment later, its smaller, less colorful, mate followed suit.  "Holy buckets!  You see the size of that...?" someone commented.  Barb had also had seen the creature; she immediately grabbed up her eleven-year old son, who was walking at her side, safeguarding him close – the youngster was anticipating when he'd be big enough to join the older boys, and carry a real weapon - not just a stick.  He chafed at being fussed at, as if he was still a little boy.  

Later in the afternoon, a series of loud guttural howls had broken out from the direction to where the birds had flown.  Well, about anyone over the age of ten could about decipher the breaking news story.  And anyone over the age of around thirty, knew the follow-up would headline the evening report.  About the time the people were gathering firewood, provender and unpacking things they'd need for the night and following morning, the noises started up again.  This time, with roaring and chest poundings, interspersed with tussling branches, snappings of twigs and more roarings, pantings, and what sounded like sobs.  

"Lovely!" the old healer murmured, for the noise was likely to continue into the night.   

“Poor thing.” Barb intoned as she passed along a wooden trencher of supplementals of which the women had been able to gather along the way.    “I lost my mate too.” She whispered into the night.  But at least they let me have my young one – well, for now, the thought kept her from launching into a private pity-social – unlike the she-gorilla, whose little one had likely been killed by the intruder.

"Momma," Tommy looked up,

and tapped the side of his mother’s robe, "what's a bonobo." Barb’s lips pursed.  "A word that grownups should take care when using."  The term, was a scientific label, but it carried a rather lewd connotation among non-scientists.  The woman could barely restrain the waspish edge of her response, to her son's question.  How was the lad supposed to know, which words were appropriate - and which weren't.  She, and the boy's late Father, only used the former.  From where the licentious term had reached her boy’s tender ears...well, that wasn't exactly the makings of a mystery scroll. Barb's eyes narrowed, upon Glorianna's stout, shapely figure.  It was one thing if she chose to use so-called, “adult” language in front of her children...  Hmmph, was any wonder, the Glori’s eldest daughter had a "hurry-up" wedding.  She recanted that thought, after all, she and Tom had both run off to Purveyor’s and, for a few lunar cycles, had lived outside of wedlock – 967, the summer of love.  The elders had called it something else.

Sometimes Barb just wanted to go over there and slap the woman.  The “ going like a three-copper” remark, concerning the female gorilla, wasn't funny! The previous night's racket had half the forest jumping on edge. Already, the day, hardly half spent, the people were reaching exhaustion, from want of adequate sleep. Thankfully, to the Most High God, the silverback's newly "acquired" territory was behind them.  

Everyone, even Bear, was having their fill with being tired, dirty, and unable to do much about it.  Behind them, had been a goodly creek.  Not only that: along the shore, the late lilacs were in bloom (a flower which, unlike the earlier, bloomed, after the corn was harvested, but it had become extinct sometime when Rome was yet a backwoods town); these didn’t grow just any old where.  Seeing the waters, smelling the flowers, had brought longing relief to everyone - a place to stop, long enough to bathe their bodies, wring out their raiment.  But nnnope.  The property holder, had suddenly made an appearance, growled at them to move along – and to make it snappy... as if they were but urchins in the marketplace.  Best they could do was refill their bottles - quickly!

The following afternoon, had the three-dozen-ish individuals, leaving the valley floor, and heading up into the foothills.  Just ahead of them, was the unmistakable trickle of water.  More than a few wept tears of joy, for the landlord was – at least for the present - absentee.  But, per the floral and fauna signposts, there was no time for dawdling, nor adequate time could be spared for a real bath. The group - keeping an eye out for anything, amid the trees, or skyborne, seeking ... an e-z munch – had washed themselves, fully dressed.

What in the world?

The stench was so bad, it caused one of the headmen to lose his breakfast – of which hadn't been much, just a few berries, leaves and roots.  Wending their way up the second mountain, a wheel on one of the carts had slipped, sending the cart on its side, scattering its precious contents.  A few of the items had been retrievable, but many were not - for the incident had taken place upon an outcrop; not a safe place to remain for any longer than absolutely necessary.  In the distance - but not enough of one, as far as all were concerned - BigUgly cruised the sky, in search of her, and her hatchlings’ breakfast.  In short, the group was running low on supplies; and the distance they'd already endured, could hardly qualify as the first leg. And to think, had Grandfather Enos and several other men, not have previously made this trek, all those centuries ago, getting through that narrow pass – with its hidden …surprises – could have ended way worse.

Bear wrinkled his nose. The recently-shed array of scales, smelt like death - overdone.  And it was huge.  The belly-crawler must have been about the thickness of a gramma-gator - there was a children's story about that... "Grandmother, what big..."  So, the thing was probably in the area.  Nice!  That meant, wasn't a good idea to pop, more than four or five cubits, into the bushes for a quick pee.   Not a problem for men and boys; they just headed for the group’s perimeter, turned aside, shifted their raiment, and let it go.  Women and girls?  That was another matter.  Women!  They were good for, one other thing – besides separating friends.  Always needing to stop…if it wasn’t answering nature’s call, it was certainly another.  Bear grimaced; they’d be about twice the distance, if it wasn’t for…them.

Onward and up, over the second ridge, and down again, just a way, wouldn't be too long now, they'd be out of that thing's territory, and would be stopping for the night.  Having crossed the ridge, several of the women honed in on a group of second-phase fig trees, and their fruits were... well, some a bit over-ripe, but the old saying about beggars...  Anyway, a break from wild – and wormy ☹, apples.  The women and girls were able to snag a half-decent amount, but certainly the group could have stood for more.  However, the Lady of the Manor suddenly appeared; spiraling down from her private sun room, her feet hit the ground, powerful arms swinging, her mouth grunting very real threats of serious thrashings.  The half-starved have-not's quickly fled - spilling about half of what they'd managed to snag – either from low branches or from off the ground.  With nose somewhat in the air, the baboon snarled in disgust.  Hardly, a few seconds later, a second baboon poked its smaller head and upper torso from the leafy medium; she looked up, cooing and gushing at her little one - who was chewing on a plump juicy fig, while dismissively throwing aside another – one a tad overripe.  The mother baboon gleamed and grunted with pride at the discriminating qualities of her young prince.

Barb took three of the somewhat wan looking figs from the trench, and passed it along.  She handed two of the "better" ones to her boy: he was growing a bit spindly.   Her boy had started the journey with goodly flesh upon his frame – thanks to his great, great grandmother, Debra’s, bounty.  His raiment was of good quality as well – extras she’d been unable to provide.  She looked around.  What was this place?  An rfd version of Enoch? She'd heard about the city – how, the poor were run off, from one place to another; before they'd a chance to at least partially fill hungry bellies, and get some relief for their tired feet, only to be run off again - if not rounded up, and dispatched to the work house.  She’d also heard, while Enoch always had its poor, back in the day, if you ended up “outdoors, ya know,” there were plenty of benches in the park.  For a moment, Jorg Thorgood’s song played in her head, “everybody funny, now you funny too,” still made her smile; his was the last concert Tom and she had attended – or was it the next to last?  No wait, she recalled, it was the last, because a woman sitting nearby had been telling her cousin something about great, great uncle somebody having back trouble, and being upset about some perfectly good, and comfortable, park benches having been “rudely yanked out” and replaced with backless seats, ones with iron bars between them; bars which had already sprouted rust bubbles. “Aggressive architecture,” that was the word the woman had used.  Also, that following year, Tommy was born, and so, there were more important directions to earmark precious coppers, than for the purchase of concert and theatre tickets.

Striking difference, between the line of Cain, and that of Seth.  Among the Sethites, and even their tributaries, poverty was rare - and usually temporary.  Barb’s people didn't always get along with one another, but being country people - anyone's crops or sheep folds could suddenly come to ruin, through absolutely no fault of one’s own. – yeah, like those lovely dahlias; after all this time, Barb still, at times, found herself rather miffed…stupid antelopes, couldn’t the two of them had frolicked elsewhere?    Anyway, these days – especially - among the Cainites?  When things turned south, was more along the lines of..."inhales” to be you."   That was one of the few times she'd heard her late husband make an off-color remark; he and his brother were out back constructing something - between them, a jug sat on the ground, half spent. Among the Sethites, and surrounding tribes, charity simply happened; among the Cainites, if it did happen, ninety chances out of eighty-nine, there was an agenda – one with compounded interest.

Nearby, the trench, and two or three other vessels, sat empty - save for a piece or two.  Whether bellies were adequately filled, that was doubtful.  And she and her boy, were just two more - two living, more or less, upon charity.  It had been, over a year and some, since her late husband’s passing - the three mangey hood-rats had been following him at market, bugging for coppers.  Word was, he’d said no, and they got mad.  The pottery merchant, nearby, had ended up with shards, and the neighboring cloth dealer with ...well, a lot of laundry.   

S'matter with that boy!

Mash grumbled to himself, as he made his way back from his turn at watch.  Forty-somethin’s, they got no sense!  He was still upset with Bron, his 2^nd born son, who’d nearly gotten himself jawed. Over what!   Retrieving a stupid lance!  That’s what.    Had it not been for Cappy having grabbed him, and pulled him back…Mash didn’t want to think any further into what had almost been the outcome.  Thank the Most High, for his wife was huddled with their daughter; both were sound asleep – thus relieving him of having to deal with panicky womenfolk.  Brr, the moist night air did have a chill about it.  The family was down to two blankets – and one of them, hardly qualified; their third was given to a family, who’d lost…well, nearly everything they had; for theirs was the cart which upturned.  Mash and his wife, Rachael, could make do with the thin covering; the other family, however, had a young child, and a rather frail grandparent. 

He scrunched up against his wife’s back.  Her body felt – though somewhat boney - still warm enough, and certainly inviting.  Another time, another place.  Within a few moments, Mash was sound asleep.  Midway into the 4^th watch (around 4:30 am) something had stirred him awake; he knew not what.  A dream?  A noise from the surrounding forest?  Except for random chirps from nightbirds, and a rustle here and there from the forest, the early morning was quiet. More likely what had awakened him was the coffee he had drank while on watch.  Well, that had to go.  As before, he considered giving it up, by certain hours, but reconsidered; caffeine-free guard stints, weren’t such a good idea – especially in this particular part of the forest.  He arose.  He caught a glimpse of Bron, sitting beneath a torchlight, stripping a stick from its inner-bark.  Even from Mash’s vantage, his son’s face held a glum, but determined, expression.  He should be getting shut eye.  Kids…

The bush he was nearing, had become occupied, of course.  And not only that, but by an older woman – who had just exited, while a younger entered; they were the worst, taking so doggone long.  What is with women!  Mash’s back teeth were beginning to float.  He’d been edgy here of late, and becoming more so; he knew the cause.  With everyone needing to keep close ranks.  Well, so goes privacy out the lattice, closely followed by…release.  Finally, that out of his system, he buttoned his trousers; he wrinkled his nose, for his garments needed a wash – like everything else, and everyone else.  Their journey, still in the beginning stages, he – and likely the other men – were missing the everyday comforts, for which they’d taken for granted.  He had begun to question how various outlying tribes could stand themselves; some were notorious for being, filthy – even in places where clean water was close at hand.  Their habits, of course, had come up numerous times within Pastor’s sermons. 

Whuh?

Mash was making his way back, when some noises ahead of him, compelled him to take an alternate route.  And in the nick of time!    He didn’t care to see…that.  He shook his head, even though it was still dark, and everyone was still asleep; still the couple’s lack of restraint. 

Almost to the valley floor,

about the time, an overly sweet smell had tickled some nostrils, a modest grove of coconut trees had been spotted.  Quite accidently, for one of their sheep had wandered just a bit, and then took off running ahead, but veered off a bit to the side.    A boy, followed, by two other boys, took off after it.  Two or three of the young men were on it.  Hardly a moment later, the boys yelled, “FOOODD!”   The area, now considered at least reasonably safe, several women and girls began sorting through the smallish coconuts hanging upon lower branches or laying upon the ground; though obviously past their season – and by their cloying scent, nothing like the lovely coconuts they’d been accustomed to.  Still, food was food, and they gathered up the fruits that weren’t…well too rotten.

As one of the women carefully laid one of the too soft coconuts in her basket, she looked up.  Her face fell.  Just on the other side of the trees, two grown male chimpanzees appeared from the bush.   The primates seemed uneasy about something.   “Sshhh,” she gently, nudged her daughter behind her; the child, of course, knew the drill: walk back carefully, slowly, and don’t make eye-contact with the chimps.   The other women, began backing up, some leaving their baskets.  If that wasn’t already enough, on the grove’s other side, appeared a single male chimpanzee – but he appeared big enough to take on the two, and the three of them began making a lot of noise.  The larger one, now standing in the clearing, began pounding the ground with his fists; the other two paused a moment.  The larger, sensing their fear-based indecision, just grinned, then launched into mocking noises at the other two.    One of the two, evidently having had his fill of insults, inched forward and fired off a round of insults of his own; the second, evidently sensing he’d need backup, picked up a nearby stick.  The two came forth from the bush.   Any second, the territorial rumble was to be on.

This wasn’t good.

While even an older boy’s spear thrust could bring down a chimp, the problem was:  one couldn’t always determine their location, their number, or their mindset.   At least, with an andy, or a bear, you basically knew what you were up against – but chimps, they were too much like …like men.    The women and girls, were now either within the safety of their menfolk, or in that proximity; arrows were on ready, as the people – as quietly as possible – backed toward the trail.  But, of course, a group of some fifteen individuals couldn’t slip away quietly enough.   The larger primate’s vocalizations and body language, toward the other two, had taken on a different tone

Though the two younger chimps still somewhat hesitant, were nearing the midst of the grove, where the larger stood pointing, and mocking the now retreating bi-ped intruders.   To think, hardly two moments ago, it looked like the two smaller primates were in for a serious whopping from the larger.  The three of animals were now making faces and hand-signals at the humans; one bent over and began throwing rotten coconuts, the big one followed suit; the third chimpanzee, with stick in hand, climbed the nearest tree; his stick whacked one of the fruits – one which was quite rotten, but hadn’t yet fallen from the branches.  Hitting it out of the park, the primate version KaseyGones upped his batting average as he ascended the branches.  The big one, still on the ground reached for a stick, but it was rotten, so instead, he just yanked off a branch and began swatting lower hanging semi-rotted fruits.  Whatever the third was doing, who knew or cared!   The fruit-spattered urchins were back on the trail, the primates’ noisy mirth filling their ears, while hunger filled their bellies.

"Choosing rather to suffer affliction with the people of God, than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season;" Hebrews 11:25

Oh finally! The column had stopped

for the coming evening. By tomorrow, around this time, they'd be about over the foothills of yet a third mountain. How many were there yet to trudge up and down?  The old medicine woman didn't know.   Oh well, tomorrow. She, as everyone else knew, they had needed to get far away, from the corruption, and the sickness, to a place, where and people and beasts, were free to be as they were created - just going about their business.  The troglodyte...the one which had eaten the lizard-bird – that is, after having done the unspeakable to it; hadn't been the first mutant - a highly unsavory mix of fallen angel and a she gorilla, taken unwillingly - to defile their former land. Bluuck!   How did men cope, when they’d come across such evidence?  The old healer was glad she didn't get an eye-full of that.  

It was a given: animals attacked each other - when their boundaries were crossed; they fought over resources growing in border regions.  A day earlier, two male tigers had been going at it; and not too far from the ruckus, a young female casually lay below a walnut tree – one a bit too close, as far as the transients were concerned; she had been enjoying the round hard snacks while watching, waiting, anticipating - her tail, flipping this way, and that, said it all - to go off into the bushes, with the victor.  But tigers, like any other wild beast, though would fight to the death, and while the victor might feed upon the vanquished, but tigers, lions, and even natural dragons took no parts in the … twisted stuff.

She looked around, everyone was occupied with their own concerns.  She reached into a pouch, pulled out a little bag, opened it, and pinched a rather sizable smidgen of grayish green powder into a little cup, stirred it, then sipped the bitter, bitey liquid.  Being on the trail, there was no time to mix it with anything to make it at least reasonably palatable. The old woman had been experiencing chest pains.  Nothing new.  Ever since that fever had made the rounds, she'd been dealing with them, on and off; for the most part, more of an annoyance than anything else - she had enjoyed being about her garden, busy, doing things herself, and taking breaks.  The herb, along with a day or two of rest, had usually taken care of the problem.  

But the medicine wasn't working like it did, back...back home. 

Midway: The Most High God

Is so good to us. The rag-tag group looked up and down the crisp, flowing stream.  Here, with plenty of soft grasses and fruit bearing trees, they and their animals could rest awhile.  Had to have been God's direct mercy, for the trackers found no recent evidence of some local four-footed landowner, on his way to send the ragged outlaws running for their pathetic lives.   And none of those creepo-vines – at least any mature enough to cause problems; while contact with young shoots could result in an annoying itch; a full grown creepo could wrap itself around an animal, or even a man, in about no-time; there were also some other plants which, depending on the type - at a certain time, or times, during whatever growing season - shot out deadly poison, if one came too close.  It took a trained eye to distinguish the types – better yet, to just avoid them.  But even they, had a place in the LORD God’s world; the old medicine woman had taken a walkaround looking for some, which may be of benefit.  The poison, properly diluted into a tea, went many furlongs to relieving aching muscles; without making one half stupid, unlike the cannabis or schroomies.  At last, she had the ingredients to quell the chest pains, though, the mixture wasn’t one that could be properly mixed and refined; that required a settled existence - for which all were longing.  But the medicine would do.

Over the next several days, the women washed and mended clothes, wove baskets, gathered produce, while the men repaired / replaced their tools / weapons, built several temporary structures, and replaced the carts. Another had been damaged, when three rodents - one male, who must have weighed almost as much as a man, and two - not one - of his females, had decided to snag a free meal.  The smaller female, judging by the marks on her body - some in the process of healing - evidently was taking some ongoing guff from the other two.  Nasty creatures.  Bluuch!

“Well, doesn’t that beat all,” Glori spotted a shiny gemstone just under the water, where she, sitting upon a rock, was rinsing off her feet.  Bending down to retrieve it, she’d spotted another lying in the creek bed.  Holding the first nugget in the palm of her hand, there really was no sense to grasping onto any others.  Still, she touched the nugget with her other hand; wow, such would certainly be more than enough to afford her maiden daughter and herself a lovely afternoon in Purveyors, shopping for fabric, maybe even getting their hair and nails done.  Just for sentiment’s sake, Glori debated with herself whether or not to keep the nugget, but what was the point; they’d a long journey ahead of them – and even farther away from any shop.  She bent down, and returned the nugget to where she’d found it.

A little ways downstream from her, Mash, while washing his hands and face, had a similar debate going on in his head; the answer was close, but not quite the same.  The nugget he’d held in his hand would have bought …he’d thought of a certain muted pink gown and matching cloak; so Rachael, but the sweeping ensemble had been beyond his means.   He was about to pouch the gem, when he recalled that certain illustrated dreadful, he’d read as a boy, entitled, “Shimmering Beach.”  A seaside tale, where three young men, out for adventure, sail a boat, but the current turns contrary; they end up washed ashore on a beautiful coast, where there were plenty of provisions, to rest up, repair their craft, and sail home.  They’d run into trouble - namely, from great beasts – shortly after one of the fellows gets greedy, and starts packing pebbles.  The ending paragraph - where the two confront the gold-grasper - and were about to knock his block off - the two, had instead, gave him a choice: become rich, and marooned, or remain poor, but among his fellows.  The tale had ended with grabber, saying, “What!  Not even one?”  The story’s very last sentence had been, “Nope! Not a one.”  The stone hit the water, just a cubit or so, where Mash had retrieved it.

Bear scratched his beard.  Yes, this was a good place, though they’d only be staying on long enough to rest up a bit, and feel like free people again.   People who would soon, find and take dominion of territory, and build a permanent village.  And eventually, meet up with the other two patri-groups.  Was a pleasing sight for travel-weary eyes, to see boys running and playing again.  While on the trail, the children were simply too exhausted to even consider their games - not to mention, had been too dangerous.  At any time...  Like that young bull mammoth, who had come charging through. Scared and agitated...guess so, Bear reasoned, per the young male's size, he'd been likely driven off by his sire, to go and secure territory of his own - and eventually, find his own female.  The young bull had the marks of having sustained a recent attack from a family of bird lizards. Unlike other animals, bird lizards didn't show their young the front lattice, until they were almost adults.  These creatures learned to secure their resources through teamwork with their siblings. That's what made them so dangerous.  So, the people stayed on alert.  Bear hoisted up a heavy log upon his shoulder, then thunked it down in the area where he was working.  In that one instance, the sons of Cain had more sense than the Sons of Seth; the Cainites didn't put up with bird lizards, living anywhere close.  As a matter of fact, they formed hunting parties, killing every last one they could find.   But rethinking, bird lizards were also animals, created by the Most High God; and going around killing them - when they weren't eating your produce, scaring your animals, or those of your neighbors - that was sin.  

“GOIK, GOIK, GOIK,” a young bird-lizard ran through the midst of the camp, two young girls fled to their mothers, abandoning their weaving.  Rachael, the mother of one of the girls, heard the crackle of a mostly completed basket being crushed underfoot.  Hmmph, the boy was one of Glorianna's...figures!  She consoled her daughter, that she'd go on to make another, even better...was about all she could do.  What she wanted to do, however, was go right over there and punch that top-heavy, too-tight-tunic'd woman right in the nose. Hmmph, running around here, in just her shift... what sort of woman...?  hope her Husband gets an eyeful, and takes a switch to her backside.  The mental picture was a comfort, for Glorianna was bigger than she, and not one to start with.   The episode forgotten, the maiden and her friend were chattering as they pulled apart the smashed basket, to begin again.

A day or so later,

Ruthie and several other girls were playing a game, a form of bat-ball – in this version, however the ball was somewhat larger, and softer, than the one used in the regular game.  The ball was pitched to one of Glori’s daughters, who stood at home-plate – which, like the other three bases was marked with tree-bark; none of the pieces matched, nor were all four from the same tree.  So unlike home, but one makes do.  At a short distance, several of the girl’s moms and aunties had taken a break from whatever work they were finishing up, to watch.  After all these decades, the idea of girls hitting balls with sticks, running and becoming overheated, didn’t sit too well – especially among Rachael’s people, girls’ leisure focused upon music, literature, classic plays and embroidery.  Bat-ball – even the girl’s version – was still, competitive sports; no young lady ought to… Even from her vantage, Rachael noticed the dust and debris ground into the front of Ruthie’s frock – all for what!  To score third base.  Rachael could only resolve to just let things pass – to let the girl enjoy herself; perhaps it was all for the best, considering what they’d all been through. 

The girl, at home plate, whacked the ball a good one, sending it way into the nearby thicket – which impressed a boy, who happened to be passing nearby; wow, she could bat almost as good as a young man.  Ruthie, playing outfield, ran to retrieve it.  “Oh, no-no-no!” Rachael took off running in the same direction.  “Ruthie? Ruthie!” Rachael’s voice was drowned out by sharp caws from atop a nearby tree, where two crows were fighting over something – while several other crows were doing their version of either cheering or booing.   Unbeknownst to Rachael, her daughter had safely come out aways from where she’d entered, and had already rejoined the game – one which had been halted, and was currently being moved to another location, away from any thickets – especially this one, which really wasn’t a thicket; it was just a clump of weeds and bushes.   Meanwhile, nearby, the crows’ double-header was at the bottom of the ninth, for the one crow was backing down, and the spectators were beginning to disburse – though not much quieter in making their exit from the gnarley stadium.  Eeech!  That was close, for one flying overhead, had dispersed the digested crows’ version of a juicy, delicious ball-park frank, of which he’d obtained from a hole-in-the-bark concession stand.

A sudden tussle of greenery, alerted her to reality: there were far worse things than getting bird dooey in one’s hair or upon one’s clothing. “Gga-goik, goik.”

“Ruthie, RUN!!” Rachael’s arm grasped the nearest branch, of which she began shaking - but not too vigorously, for bird-lizards were smart - to draw the dragon’s attention toward her, and away from her child.  “Go, NOW!”

“The girl’s safely with her friends.” The man’s voice, coming from toward her side, spoke, matter-of-factly, though between chuckles.  “Oh, thank the Most High!” She buried her face in his chest, then added, “you scared the perdition out of me!”  She was too relieved to be upset, with her husband for pulling that stunt.  Men… Her legs still shaking, she looked around.  “We should be getting back.”  She turned in the direction of the voices which were coming but a few reeds forward.  “Why?” Mash grinned, not letting go of Rachael’s arm. “Oh, no!”  Rachael’s eyes saucered, “Not on the bare ground, like…like animals.”  His face lit up, his eyes narrowed, from his throat came a growl.

 

"Sweetie, now don't go far." Tommy ignored his mother’s voice; he was in his glory, because he'd drawn the short straw.  "I'm the GARGOYLE, slimy, and MMEEAANNN!" He took off running.  Barb, his mother, watched while retrieving a garment from off a clothesline.  As she stood folding it, the breeze ruffled the other items, and pressed in the layers upon her person.  Her wind-sculpted slim silhouette not going unnoticed by a certain man, who was swinging his axe into the log, which he'd a few moments previous, had carried upon his shoulder.

“Hmmph,” Peninnah, sister to the old bachelor, had also noticed the boy’s ignoring his mother’s call, “single moms for ya,” she half-whispered to her partner-in-gossip.  “Allows that boy run wild…” the other woman’s response was momentarily put on hold, for her youngest had almost careened into an elder; “watch where you’re going, hon.”  She watched as her child ran to join two others, who were playing hide-and-seek.  “That’s a good game for children,” she motioned her head toward the children who were currently drawing straws, to determine who would be it.  “Not like..,” she paused for a moment, “like, Gargoyles or BoogerMan, what sort of game is that?” her friend asserted, “Bet she still thinks she can raise him, all by herself?  HAH!”  Peninnah then added, with much satisfaction, how the boy’s upper body had filled out, while in the care of his great, great grandparents.

Bear paused his work for a moment to put an eye upon the tree line where the boys were playing "Bird-lizards verses the Gargoyle." Like the other men, he also kept an eye, while about his tasks; especially here, in a land where they all were but transients, at the mercy of their four-footed betters.  Bear liked that kid.  While no boy wanted to draw short - and end up being the gargoyle, the widow's son went full tilt; he'd even smeared mud all over himself for the roll. Pray you never meet one, son.  Bear's grin, turned to a frown.  Casting down the memory – one which had, from time to time, sought to defile his head-space - he took up his axe, reducing the five-cubit log into firewood.

A day or so later

One of the men glanced downstream.  Up in the sky, a mountain dragon made an appearance.  The man watched, and listened to the calls of other birds, and creatures dwelling high in the trees.  Since they weren't sounding alarms to their fellows, the approaching dragon was a stoner; its zig-zaggy flight path indicated, he'd recently found a patch of cannabis, and would soon be on the lookout for wild grapes.  Stoners posed minimal danger to people and animals; they were more a nuisance – ask any vine master.   The females?  Whole different story!  It was none but the LORD God's mercy which kept the larger, fire-breathed females mainly to ridges, where they worked full-time keeping their young fed - for unlike other animals, they'd either no mate at all – more like one that was worthwhile.  Had the dragon been a female, the gongs – hanging on ready from branches - would have sounded, alerting everyone to quickly take cover.

Enough wood cut, Bear and some other man, were sharpening and polishing their tools.  As the last of the implements were secured, in the proper notches or sections of the two men's respective back pouches, younger men gathered kindling for the evening's fires – which would be lit after sunset.   As the women and girls finished setting the communal serving table, and taking their respective places among their family group. Tommy was more or less playing with his food, for he had a question, which had been pressing him, from time to time, over the past several days.  “Mamma,” he pointed to the thicket, “if that isn’t safe, then why don’t the men go in together?”  A pea escaped out of Barb’s mouth. The boy’s question, concerning what had been dubbed as “hitting the lottery,” had raised a few chuckles among the men, and more than a few blushes amongst their wives.  “Honey, she coughed, “I’ll tell you about that, when you’re a bit older.  Okay?”  Grown-up stuff, that said it all, Tommy’s attention turned to his food, and to the games he and his friends would play, while the women and girls cleaned up. 

The boy, like most others, wished to stay on, for at least awhile longer.  Though Tommy viewed the trail as an adventure, walking all day, day after day, did get boring, and tiring also.  As did the boy’s mother also want to remain for just a few days longer.  Barb wasn’t looking forward to again having to go without daily baths and clean raiment - luxuries, which even pseudo-settled life offered.   As long as they were in transit, however, she relished one advantage; though the trek would again render her exhausted, and dirty.  Still, as long as the journey lasted, she would remain a sovereign individual. 

As the grown-ups were enjoying their final evening, in this pleasant place, a young father reached for an instrument that looked like a harp, embedded into an oval shaped box, with a long stringed bar extending from it.  "Me and you, and our little boy too," the man beamed at his son – who was maybe three or four – and a bit too young, and, like the other young children, too tired to play any other games.  He then continued, "traveling and a, living off, the la-and.  Me and you," he kissed his wife on her forehead, and continued, "and our strong son too," he paused, beaming again, "how I love being a, a free man." Another man arose from where he had been sitting, only to return to his seat, for he’d already packed away his lute.  He hadn’t been the only individual to have remembered the same.  But no stress to anyone, for they all had their voices. 

Melodious and beautiful, Rachael had so taken the music all in.  It was if the songs kept at bay a certain fear which, shortly after departing from their homeland, had begun to take root in her mind – and lately had begun to sprout seeds.  Would Toff’s earlier publication prove to be factual?  What had her even more uneasy was: she couldn’t recall the title of that book, she’d read it three times – was that even more evidence that her humanness was beginning to slip?  Surely, she wasn’t the only person who was forgetting things.  Or remembering things, which began happening inside of two weeks ago. How things started, was very different from how things had ended. 

Not far to her right, two boys were stuffing light brown grasses into the back and sides of their trousers, then binding the grasses with vines; they ran off, pounding their chests and making animal noises. “SILBERBACKS DON’T GO RRAAAH!” one boy corrected his companion.  They took off running past the thicket, from where another couple had emerged.  From behind Rachael, she heard the snap of the young father putting away his musical instrument.  Dusk was coming on, and people began to depart to their respective lean-tos to get needed shut-eye, for the morning would come quickly, and they’d be back on the trail, not long after sunrise.    

"And the fear of you and the dread of you shall be upon every beast of the earth, and upon every fowl of the air, upon all that moveth upon the earth, and upon all the fishes of the sea ; into your hand are they delivered."  Genesis 9:2

Up over another mountain,

the people were crossing the ridge, where a terrible smell assaulted their nostrils. The source of it was, from all appearances, an abandoned big-ugly's nest.  Wisely, giving the hastily built, ratty thing some distance; outside of it laid the decaying body of a hatchling.  A baby stoner, who likely had been unable to hold his own, in the face of his female sibling's sharp and ready young claws and beak.  The people could only surmise, there was only so much the overly burdened mamma-ugly could bring back.  Retired Chief, Enos, Father of Chief Cainan, gave the nest just a bit more of a berth, than the others.  Back in his youth, the male-ugly had remained with his female; together, they were highly dangerous – raising two, even three, young.  While in the nest, the pair’s young had plenty of food, and so, didn’t need to peck out a sibling, while their parents were off hunting.  He’d come too close to having been snatched up, carried off, and dumped into one of those nests – yikes!   

The tickey-tack state of the nest had brought to mind, a hut, Barb, as a child, had seen.  She and her mother, on their way to market, had passed the rickety place; the small garden and two or three fruit trees had been, for some time, overgrown with weeds and nettles.  From inside, came a sour odor of unwashed raiment; a broken lattice sort of hung in the doorway: behind it, a dirty threadbare curtain.  From inside, a woman had, apparently, snarled the kinds of words she'd never heard her parents use; the mother's rebuff, causing the youngster within to wail.   Having been only about seven or eight at the time, she'd asked her mother why the woman was so mean to her child.  To which, her mother only replied that, not having a husband - willing to see to things - can vex a woman into a steep pit of despair and anger.  At that tender age, was a deal-breaker; the Barb was resolute to have nothing at all to do with no-counts, drunkards, and such like whiney malcontents.

"I went by the field of the slothful man, and by the vineyard of the man void of understanding; And, lo, it was all grown over with thorns, and nettles had covered the face thereof, and the stone wall thereof was broken down."  Proverbs 24:30-31

Several weeks later,

Of all times. Rachael recounted the knots; the sum equaled the same - LATE.  Not that she was surprised, Even before having ended their, affectionately dubbed, “Midway Va-ca,” Rachael had suspected her legs were carrying another person besides herself.   It was the timing which had her upset, for upon and after reaching their destination – wherever and whenever that would be – an overwhelming amount of work awaited all of them.  During that window period, a few weeks back, she had tried to reason with her Husband, to wait until the morrow, but to no avail.  Further up, and toward Rachael’s right, Marcella - Pastor Jason’s wife – was folding a blanket, and was showing.  Into her third trimester, their baby would be coming into this world, not too far up the trail.

Those few weeks of

and at least semi-privacy, made trail routine twice as difficult.  Once again, keeping an eye out in all directions was the proverbial rock and a hard place.  A sudden snapping of twigs and the flutter of leaves, caused the natural response of a man nearby to look over.  He wished he hadn't, for there was neither tooth nor claw ready to attack.  Through the fluttering leaves...he saw way more than what he needed to; his neighbor's wife was readjusting her shift. 

Combined with a lack of privacy, being on the trail neither afforded the women adequate time nor space to fully wash and dry towels and handkerchiefs.   Not too long, following the group’s meal break, one of the men’s victuals had refused to stay down, and instead had come back up, and with a vengeance.  Right there on the trail.  More than two or three of the men had experienced similar embarrassment, at one point or another during the journey.  Still, it was just one of those things, if a woman or child vomited in public; kids being kids, they get sick.  As for women?? Well, basically same difference, they're neither men, nor even young men.  

The dense foliage wasn't letting up; the people were about at one another’s heels.  Conversation wasn't a wise idea, while hemmed together by the dark green branches, and shoots - striving against each other, for at least a bit of sunlight.  For they needed to listen carefully to the chirpings, calls around them.  Not that the people had much to say to one another, nor much song in their hearts.  Earlier in the afternoon, two of the men had some sort of disagreement; for a moment, it had appeared, the two had wanted to go at it.   Meanwhile, Rachael, the mother the girl, whose basket had been tramped upon, by "bird-brat," kept a berth, as wide as she was able, from Glori, bird-brat’s mother.  Every once in a while, she caught Glorianna's glare.   Rachael wasn't the only woman in their village who'd found herself, a time or two, stepping rather carefully around the stout woman.  Of course, everyone was on edge. 

Thankfully, wouldn't be in the trail forever.  Upon reaching the new land, they'd all be too busy putting together both house and yard to be getting upon each other’s nerves.   Daily life, however would, for quite some time, would remain harsh; no time nor space, for the little luxuries and indulgences they’d formerly taken for granted.  The widow, Barb, which the group had, according to several, had been indulged for, now well over a year, and reaching into the second – too long a time; that had to change.  There wouldn’t be spare resources, for the community to aid her in maintaining a place and furnishings of her own.  Here and there along the journey, Rachael couldn’t help but notice, Barb’s father conversing with a certain man. Rachael wondered if Barb knew, but didn’t want to broach the subject.

And sure, the man seemed to have a likable, a not-too-high-maintenance, disposition, and though he’d a century on her, he wasn’t, well too old.  But marriage?  Barb reflected on things, while keeping an eye on Tommy, who’d insisted upon walking with some older boys; though tired, like everyone else, her son was enjoying the adventure of passing through uncharted land.  Barb, on the other hand, was thinking about “home.” Home, where she’d passed downtime portions of the afternoons, relaxing upon the roomy Head seat, with story-scroll upon her trousered lap.   Not long after journey’s end, would spell the end of her freedom, as a sovereign person; she’d have to give consent to, for all intents and purposes, becoming some man’s…vassal.  No other way around it.

“Holy BUCKETS!!” a young man, walking beside the center group of women and children, called to his buddy, walking a few paces behind, “you see the SIZE of that thing?"  The centipede, about the thickness of a man's forearm, skittled across the path; then, when most of it was under a bush, it stopped, for maybe, a half second, shook its tail, then took off deeper into the bush.  The people held up, for a few seconds, lest they trip over the inevitable male centipede.  Tommy stood in amazement, for the male had to be as thick as Bear's upper arm. Well, the upswing was, the activity around the group's feet - while having startled more than a few - did bring the sojourners out of their slump a bit.   In addition, the forest around them seemed to be thinning out - well, at least for the time being.  Still cautious, ears remained focused upon the calls around them, the same ears found welcoming, bits of human conversation.  

Just up the trail, the foliage had spread out enough to actually let in some of the afternoon sun.  The column was able to spread out a bit.  The ground beneath their feet was leveling out.  Soon they'd be stopping for the evening.  Tomorrow, perhaps - before heading down the other side - their communications operator would be able to respond to the call they'd received two - or was it three - days ago, from the other group.  Perhaps, tomorrow, they'd be outside of this latest no-call zone.

"That which hath been is now; and that which is to be hath already been; and God requireth that which is past." Ecclesiastes 3:15

Urban spaces

Lamech, son of Methusael, relaxed

upon a sofa, in Zillah's parlor.  He bit into a cucumber sandwich, while reaching for another.  Upon the plate, bordered with various bite-sized fruits, were also a few small loaves of corn bread, some pecan tarts, and a dark sort of confection shaped like rounded pyramids.   The famine having let up, at least reasonably so, Zillah eyed the little treats, but did not add any to her plate - lest Lamech give her one of those "concerned" looks.  Or worse, make some remark concerning "Sethite" livestock, ending with a "mmmooooo."    Hhmmph, he didn't complain whenever they were ... in the adjoining room.  But no matter, she requested her Husband's presence, because she had something of utmost importance to discuss with him.  But first, of course, she listened while he spoke.  Predictably, he brayed on, about this, that and the other.   He was so beside himself over quite of money saved in drawing up the prenup.  And the final draft was about done - already.  

Zillah, being no legal whiz, nevertheless, was focused upon two or three certain paragraphs, the rental complex in town and the WadStreet portfolio - forget a few silly diamonds, a woman's best friend, are things which - in the case of widowhood, or divorce - will provide a roomy house in a safe neighborhood, a few servants, and funds to keep Naamah in decent raiment.  Lamech reached for a fold, pulling out a scroll and handing it to her. She immediately honed in upon those certain parts, but also carefully read the others - while her Husband polished off most the refreshments.  Enjoying the "pyramids" especially, he rubbed the spare wheel around his middle.

She rolled up the document, handing it back to her lord.  "I'm amazed, so quickly." Zillah expected the negotiations to drag on a few more weeks.  Lawyers.!

"Thought they could dig their polished little mandibles in this one, HAH!"  He slapped his side, knocking over a small vase.  It rolled on the floor, leaving puddles and torn petals in its wake.  "Zillah saw it, a mile away."  He pointed at the front of his skull, beaming.  "She's SMART!"

That, Lamech’s first wife certainly was.  While Zillah did harbor some jealousy toward her older competitor, the fact was: the woman WAS smart.  And certainly, able to start a legal practice on her own; wasn’t fair, she’d work so long and hard, taking care of all the legal issues – which are bound to happen upon a vast estate.  Oh, the gold and silver coin saved.  Zillah had reason to doubt whether Lamech had upped Adah’s allowance, despite all the work she’d put in; evidently not, for shortly ago, while passing in the corridor, Zillah had overheard Adah asking Lamech for two or three extra silver pieces, and then their husband mumbling something about “You Women…” he then had continued with their “having enough to stock both LordTraylor’s and Macie’s for the next few seasons.” The tone of his voice had been a mix of dismissive and irritated – more, however, the former, than the later.

“And Lamech said unto his wives, Adah and Zillah, Hear my voice; ye wives of Lamech, hearken unto my speech: for I have slain a man to my wounding, and a young man to my hurt.”  Genesis 4:23

Meanwhile, back at Jabal’s ranch,

Hearing a racket, of what sounded like metal churning, banging and clanging together, Jabal lit out of his tent, as did the armed men with him, exit theirs as well.  Upon recognizing his half-brother, Tubal-Cain, in an approaching cloud of dust, Jabal held up his arm - signaling his men to stand down their weapons.  It worked. He was amazed.  While Tubal Cain had explained that metal could move, if powered by petroleum, seeing a chariot go - and FAST - without horses pulling it...actually seeing an automated wagon move was another matter. But why?  What for?  While a horse took longer, horses didn't make a bang, clang racket - which Jabal was certain half the valley was all ears, and by now, probably quite irritated.  The horses in the corral weren't too happy either.   Horses didn't need that gunky stuff - that could blow up on you, if you weren't careful. Horses needed but oats, grasses, water, shoes now and again, and brushings.   Horses didn’t cloud the air with noxious smoke. Jubal let out a cough, while fanning the air before him. 

Finally, the three-wheeled contraption came to a stop, the noise ceased when Tubal turned some sort of metal bar that was embedded in a slot.  He removed a padded helmet from his head, and suspended it upon a hook nearby some sort of bent stick-like thing, which had a knob at its top.  After taking some refreshment, which had been served by Jabal's wife - who then, like any other "servant," spoke not a word, but went her way - leaving with a quiet rustle of skirts in her wake.   The ringing in Tubal-Cain's ears, now abated, he and his brother got caught up.  The petrol-powered chariot, was just a prototype. For now, running it, took way too much fuel; an ephah’s worth (8 gallons) got you, 40 furlongs (5 miles) – and that was on relatively flat territory.  Tubal-Cain was also working on a "silencer" - after all, why – at least for the time being - "advertise" one's business to the entire valley, while jarring the insides out from ones ears.

Lamech, father of Tubal-Cain

scratched his head, as he looked at the hollow tube which lay upon a table in his son, Tubal-Cain's workshop; Lamech didn't get it.  Why not just shoot an arrow, or launch a spear?  This technology was getting too fast, leaving the elder insulted, frustrated with the ever run to catch up – and not quite getting there.  "See that tripod over by the shelf?" Tubal pointed to a corner.  Lamech was getting more confused; what good was a weapon if you couldn't run with it?   As for defending one’s compound or town, a good old-fashioned catapult did just fine.  The city had used another time-tested, no-hassles weapon.  The men had simply dumped pans of hot greasy stuff, when that gang of ...how did Adah, his senior wife, describe them?  Oh yeah, overgrown “juvenile delinquents;” when the young horde had decided to scale Enoch's walls - that was a few years ago; city hadn't had that sort of trouble ever since.   Then again, maybe their fathers had gotten wind, but somehow Lamech doubted if those "boys”' fathers were around - or cared.

"Father, the tripod is lighter, more portable than a bulky catapult - and no rocks to have to deal with."  Tubal held in his hand, what resembled an oversized graphite filled writing instrument, which had been sharpened so many times, any giant schoolboy would have difficulty holding onto while writing out his arithmetic or writing lesson.    Dismissing the absurd thought of one of those monsters actually studying, Tubal-Cain placed one of the projectiles into his father's hand.  "Just one of these, packs more punch, than some clunkety rock."

Lamech paused.  There was something else to all this; connecting the dots, led in the direction of Jabal's ranch - probably cattle rustling.  "JimmyJames gang, again?"  Lamech ventured.  "No, father," Tubal Cain replied, then added, "the JJs wear sandals, and their feet," Tubal Cain extended his forearms, spreading his hands, a good cubit and a half "aren't this big."

Just another Enoch-u Thursday,"

Professor Toff was lecturing his students.  As usual, he was less than pleased with the caliber of most of them; the young men were more interested in either drinking in the dens, betting on the chariot races, or sporting at the brothels...on their father's coin, of course.  Fortunately, the board had rejected a proposal, which would surely have further distracted the young men - co-education.  At least for the time being, no female students - a flagrant contradiction in terms, as far as Toff was concerned - would be enrolled within the college's marble walls, and smelling up the classrooms with their perfumes, and half-settled nail-polish.  "Semi-evolved..." a brilliant description, if he had to say so, himself.  His publication had been almost unanimously approved by the peer committee.  Not to mention, the extra income would keep himself in billiard club dues for a while.

His publication focused upon recent findings, which appeared to prove, mankind had, descended from some sort of chimpanzee creature - there was, of course, some loose ends, but overall...  However, the recent evidence had also indicated, those - his face wrinkled at the very thought of ... those bumpkins.  Of course, their ancestry had to trace back to the baboon.

The Prof had traveled to the abandoned village; their huts - yes, they slept in those tiny structures, which were more like several lattices strung in a circle, and two or three running across the top; leafy vines, wove themselves about the framework.  Their waking hours, they spent outside…like animals.  The only other “room” was their storage area – not that they were known to possess more than two or three changes of raiment; same with other textiles, such as covers for their supper table, which sat outside, next to the open-air pantry; the rough-hewn furnishing – or what passed as such - sat beneath a canopy, which was more leafy vines than an actual structure.  He’d gone inside several of the huts; one having been the “house” – he chuckled at the word – of their Chief; the enclosure wasn’t much, if any, larger those of the other savages.  The only furnishings within, was a raised sleeping board; it being about half of the size of his soft bed.  Frankly, he couldn’t imagine passing the entire night sleeping so close.  But they were primitives, so it only made sense, they were unable to remain evolved, and instead, had reverted back to their natural state.

While at the site, the professor and his team had personally witnessed, a young female baboon with a veil on her head – though, the headgear leaning to the side - running out of one of the structures.  Right there, in plain sight, a male baboon approached her.  And then, the both of them had gone at it - she louder than he - right there, in plain view.  What sealed these findings was: having questioned the primitives in the area, they were either vague, or silent.  More like, ashamed, of the stark fact, their relatives had devolved back to animals - and likely feared the same for themselves.  So much, for evolution requiring great age - chance and change can happen quickly.

"But Professor!" a first-year student, quite disturbed by this recent evidence, raised his skinny hand.  "Ca-could devolution ha-happen to us?  Instead of having at least half a heart for the distressed young student, the professor made a dismissive face, then snapped:  "Young man, evidently, YOU were NOT paying attention."  The professor huffed, then continued, "Those people, come from a brute beast, WE are the descendants of a creature, more akin to the noble chimpanzee."

“Well jeepers, why didn’t he just bite the kid’s head off!”  Another student, a few years older, had turned and whispered to his fellow jock – who were both enrolled in the class, because they had to be.  Upon turning back, his eyes met the professor’s cold glare - and that familiar movement of Toff’s little mustache; for he’d muttered his equally familiar line concerning “pupils, these days…”  The first jock then remembered, and regretted, having not been wise enough to wait until after class, before making the snarky comment.  Had ProfToff had been in one of his moods, the young man trembled just a bit, for ProfToff could have easily had him sent to the disciplinary unit; where even sports stars - whose fame brought in much gold and silver coin to the institution - have been stripped naked, and whipped - while the other young men were forced to look on.  The jock could only recall one time, when a student’s father had contacted the Dean.  Most the young men’s fathers, of course, sided with the college – likely, because they’d themselves had been in the same situation.

Earlier in the semester, such had been the fate of a young man, who sat nearby; the fellow had done…well, nothing really – certainly nothing to merit anything more than an additional load of outside coursework.  The young man, was indeed very busy with coursework – his chosen field (or, more likely, that of his father) was journalistic sciences, and an additional career path; one which he was determined that no body – not a one – would stop him.  He had already published, and word among the fellows was: he vowed, that when his publications garnered a wider readership, he was going to put ProfToff in a story.

"And with all deceivableness of unrighteousness in them that perish; because they received not the love of the truth, that they might be saved.  And for this cause God shall send them strong delusion, that they should believe a lie:"  II Thessalonians 2:10-11

[Get the mean teacher source from “Roman Literature in Translation” about the writer do DID in fact, put a switch wielding former teacher in a story.]

Meanwhile, back at the foundry,

Tubal-Cain looked over the blueprint of a new type of petroleum-powered machine.  One that rode smoothly, but not over land; the model he had made, had flown.  Well, at least for a short while.  One of the problems, was the fuel; the flying machine needed a more refined grade.  He rolled up the plans and put them back in their leather tube, and filed them back in their slot - beside two or three other ideas in the making.  Projects which would have to wait.  While the flying machine could do circles in resolving the big problem facing Enoch and its surrounding communities, the best plans, were to utilize, and build more of the fire tubes.  Already, he had been able to construct less bulky models - ones that didn't require carting around tripods; ones which a man could carry; these lighter ones, of course, hadn't the firepower nor distance, but using both was proving effective in stamping out the feet infestation.

To think of juvenile males as an "infestation" was a bit difficult, but at the same time, these pre-adolescent "boys" weren't, by far, the regular young hoodlums who roamed the poorer neighborhoods, stealing apples from vendors then throwing them through windows or at people.   Tubal-Cain had tried that sort of thing - but only once; it had been all fun and games, running the streets, committing random acts of petty vandalism.  Fun time, that was until Lamech, his Father, just happened to step around the corner.  The boys he’d been with, had all taken off like big uglies.  For young Tubal-Cain, it had been very game over.

The feet were...what was that word Stepmother used?   Mutations.  The professor, from over at the college - which Tubal-Cain had attended for a short while, but sitting in a classroom, listening to some professor drone on about ... bla, bla bla.  Nope, wasn't Tubal-Cain's thing.  But the professor's recent article did explain, these creatures were not merely boys too big for their britches. Was said, most ran about, buck naked.  And STANK! like, a mix between rotten eggs and the dung of an animal which had eaten something disagreeable.  The newspaper also had an article, about a mother who'd been found upon the floor of her kitchen; the woman's head bashed in.  Beneath the overturned table, was an upturned serving bowl, a serving spoon, both face down, in a puddle of oatmeal.  Beneath the crockery had been a placemat.  This latest incident had a probable witness; a neighbor who, moments before, believed she'd heard the mother ask her oversized boy to "please take out the garbage."

No father, of course, had been mentioned.

Real devilry

Orders from on LOW

were to have been carried out. But, hadn't been, because Azel had more important things on his agenda - namely, turning on the charm to this or that debutant.  At present, his scaley hide - corseted within a prince-charming body mask - was seated, alongside some dean's rather plain-faced daughter.  The season's Durwin banquet was going on – despite, yet another famine - a rather dull affair, but anyone who was anyone in the city of Enoch’s society would be in attendance.  As with most of those things, way more glitter than gold - skimpy portions, so artfully served upon fish-shaped plates, with legs. Mouth had to laugh, at the thought of Azel enduring those long speeches, while his near empty belly groaned - and his full ... simply wanted to have its way. 

"Any would do, 'cause it didn't matter who."  "Ha," Mouth twirled his body, at the, what he perceived, catchy tune; he spat; from his maw came forth ... bluuck.  He' would have indulged in his rock-star fantasy - where He's top billing, while Azel can barely get a gig in a Nu-Market bar - but he had to get real, had to get busy, for Mouth didn't have a lot of time to upstage Azel.  The banquet wouldn't go all night, and neither would the brothels – most of them closed around the start of 3^rd watch (around 12:30 am) – prostitutes, like anyone else, needing food and other supplies, had to be up in time to take their baskets to market.  More often than not – especially nowadays, if one wasn’t at market by mid-morning, you’d end up having to settle for spotty apples, sour grapes, over-ripe bananas, dried up apricots, limp lettuce ...   Needful to say, with most the Sethites, no longer bringing produce to market, food insecurity had only compounded.

Mouth took off to a certain planetary system, the one just southwest of the big dipper.  He set in motion a round of pinball-from ... heck.  BOOM!! went the jupiter-sized planet; its fragments, collided, just ever so, into others, and their moons.  The fragments scattered in every direction, but much of the mess, was heading in the "right" direction. Mouth was in his glory.

Well, "for a season."

And that “season” was to be shorter than "Mouth" was to realize. In his haste to get his statue reared up, in the hall-of-infame, he forgot one little variable. Had he held off, for just an hour or two, the holy angels’ quark ping-pong tourney would have been over; and they would have already gone back to their respective mansions - before second watch had gotten much started (9:30 pm) ...which was another thing that launched Mouth into fits of scoffing – come on, the action’s hardly in gear, when “gawwd’s” angels are all behind mansion walls, and missing out on the fun.  Oh, but had Mouth the foresight to have waited, before setting off that large rocky planet, a certain fragment would have become a future extinction event - not only that, but a deliciously slow one.   One that would have dragged on, rendering both human and animal in a constant state of nothing but raw survival mode - and losing ground, every step of the way.  Had Mouth paid a bit more attention, when the directive from on low had been posted, but, nope!  he'd been running his yap.

This earth-destroying attempt had been overthrown by ... the simple act of one of the Holy angels, who’d been going on about the match; his arms flailing this way and that, had sent the fragment, just a tad off-course. Neither the angel, nor his buddy, had given the fragment a single thought, as they were both going on about that game, play by play.  Well, the fragment did kick off a chain of events, giving rise to a certain barrier to any subsequent near extinction events; in another 5,000 years, that thick hedge of mountain-sized rocks and tiny pebbles, would be known to about every 5^th grader, as the OrtCloud.

"Choosing rather to suffer affliction with the people of God, than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season;" Hebrews 11:25

"Well, we can nix that idea!"

A high-ranking Holy angel conversed with his colleague. Both having worked a long stretch, were so looking forward to catching at least part of the All-Stars atom-smash.  Being 5th and 6th level supervisors, such positions meant less leisure time for things like ball-games, or even multi-dimensional scrabble.  One of them, had so badly wanted to see a certain star actually start into its silicon-burning phase, but that didn't happen - he had a ton of reports to get out.  

"Yeechh!"  A big cloud of slime, among some smaller ones, floated before them.  Both scowled, and fished into their robes, each hoping the other had brought along a litter bag.  Wasn't like they could just leave such vile ... stuff to float around, defiling their LORD'S outer space.  Especially THIS sort of slime; it didn't come from just any imp or demon.  It was evil, super concentrated: it had come straight out from ... ew, Mouth.

The two rounded up, and bagged the ... unspeakable toxin; they headed for a certain black hole - not just a regular one.  The stuff in the bag was too vile to be dispatched into Hell.  Nope, this package was bound straight for Tartarus.  The angels opened the black hole, but only wide enough to toss the bag inside.  From within came up the most horrendous screams and wails - from a certain group of apostate angels who, at one time, enjoyed the courts of the LORD'S heaven, but we're eternally consigned to the lowest dungeon, bound in everlasting chains, under darkness. Soon enough, another cohort of rebel angels would be thrown headlong into that unspeakably horrible place. The cleanup accomplished, their Most High Majesty's outer space, made fit – at least this sector, for now, both angels felt soiled, and so headed off to a somewhat nearby gaseous giant - where they could steep themselves and their raiment within thick clouds of ammonia methane.

Later, when the two – along with the other Holy Angels - were gathered before their Everlasting King. While waiting to behold His magnificent appearance; from roundabout, there were than a few good-natured snickers.  “Who spilt the cleaning solvent?”

“And the angels which kept not their first estate, but left their own habitation, he hath reserved in everlasting chains under darkness unto the judgment of the great day.”  Jude 1:6

Aw canna-fella enjoy his cocoa in peace,

the devil muttered, looking into the cup. He pulled out a shard which had landed between two or three of the mini marshmallows floating on top.  Reaching in, with one of his talons, he flicked it out, taking another sip.  Apoloyn continued his rant; he swore he’d find the culprit.  The devil rolled his slitty eyes.  The hot-headed idiot!  The devil hadn't been real keen on the slow-extinction idea, to begin with.  Having checked his watch, crunched the figures on his calculator, the meteor - the big one - would have hit the earth, somewhere near its equator, in about two or three hundred years.  After all, what's so fun about that?  What!  Maybe fifty million souls?  Uh-uh, the devil, unlike his underlings, was very able to delay gratification.  He was patient.  His plan was much satisfying - instead of a mere few million, better that billions of those clay potties end up as shattered melted shards, burning and popping for eternity.

“Enter ye in at the strait gate: for wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction, and many there be which go in thereat: Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.” Matthew 07:13-14

Apoloyn, the Destroyer, lounged

upon his basaltic throne; the seat, arms and back were padded with layer upon layer of matted animal skins - which reeked of blood and whatever had remained, when the demon grabbed whatever unfortunate bear, wolf, lion, cresty...and literally had torn them to pieces.  He thundered to his servants - both demon, and human - to bring forth the captives.  His servants, being evil and craven, weren't stupid; quickly, the captives were grabbed, and thrown forward.  "P-pa-leze, it wa-wasn't my fa-fault!" Azel blustered like a girl, caught telling a lie.   "Ee-it was..." 

"SILENCE!" Apoloyn thundered.

Both Fool and Bull kept their heads down; neither dared even cast their leader, Azel, a dirty look, for having dragged them into this mess.  As if their dire situation couldn't get more so, Bull could no longer contain that, which he, earlier, had overstuffed himself; a pig - sans the blanket - a bushel of potatoes and cabbage – fried in deliciously rancid grease, and washed down with a keg of NightTrans wine.  If the Destroyer wasn't mad prior to the mess, he sure was now.  Mouth trembled between the two, who were crouched behind their VERY fearful leader; Mouth nudged himself away from Bull, and toward Fool - in a very pointless attempt to escape Apoloyn's notice.  

"Ged offa me!" the Destroyer shoved an imp, who had been sitting in the destroyer's lap, onto the filth-matted stone floor.   From beside and in back of the throne, several imps smirked at the little playmate-of-the-month's public dismissal.  He motioned Mouth to forward, patting an area of his lap.  Mouth, of course, was so terrified, he peed himself, as he approached the filthy throne; he had reason to fear, especially after that ort-cloud incident.  "There, there, are you comfy?" Mouth's eyes bulged out, because the answer to that question was ... youch.  The destroyer began to gush, "You're so pretty." He whispered in Mouth's slime encrusted, pointy ear.  

"AS FOR YOU," he thundered at the three hapless devils, "CLEAN UP THIS MESS!"  He then signaled to one or two of his servants to bring to the three trembling reprobates, each a small bucket and a mop, suited for female children’s hands and backs – a rite of passage for little girls, because the pink buckets and mops meant, they're no longer babies, but are now big girls, helping their mommies. 

In a small dingy saloon,

in a one-horse town, somewhere east of Enoch, an aging off-duty barmaid sat at a table, playing poker with two of Jabal's ranch hands.  She was plainly dressed, just as any other working-class woman - for she'd given up her oldest profession.  These days, she only served the men beer, grog, or whatever was available.  A raggedy, dusty man walked in, unnoticed by the two playing cards, or the two or three other men, in whatever state of drunkenness, they were choosing for that particular afternoon.   The barkeep wasn’t sure about the looks of the new arrival - struck him as the type who might start bugging for drinks; that usually ended with things getting broken.  The place had three tables - well, actually two, because the one in the corner was truly upon its last legs.  

The dusty and dazed man fumbled in a fold, pulling out a copper.  Whatever was wrong with him, it was something, but wasn't the barkeep's problem.  He served the dusty a bit a grog, then went about his business, while keeping an eye on the strange man.  Come to think of it, he looked a bit like...nah, couldn't be; that dude was loud, and known to start fights...well, for just because.    The dusty just sat there, nursing his grog; his face was nearly as white as the barkeep’s wife's sheets.  But, whatever, wasn't the barkeep’s problem - as long as pale dusty bought drinks and didn't start trashing the place.

The strange man had walked for some distance; his one sandal in bad shape, the other, not much better.  He finished his drink, and left the saloon.  He had just enough on him to buy a horse, get something to eat - if his stomach was able to keep it down - and get far away.  Maybe head southwest.

Anywhere.  Far away from the big feet.

"YOU MISSED A SPOT!!" Apoloyn roared.

The high-level fallen angel then motioned to one or more of his bruisers.  Oh, they were more than ready willing, for any reason to rough up the three trembling mid-level reprobates - Azel, Fool and Bull, who struggled to clean up, with the completely useless equipment of they'd been forced to make due.  Two of the little mops, were way past done; only a few filthy strands remained, fastened to the child-sized handle. The third mop was in better shape, though not by much; but good enough for the hapless three to get into a scuffle - one that proved to not be worth the roughing up, they'd endured.  So, they kept mopping, and rinsing in what was left of the filth saturated water which remained in the grud-encrusted "Little Helpers" buckets – one of which, still – but barely – showed an outline of a smiley-faced little girl and her mother enjoying tea-cakes; barely legible, was a caption, engraved below, and surrounded by sparkling tiles, which read, “A Job Well Done.”  The other bucket, was off topic; for upon it, could be seen part of, what could have been, a cutsie - and highly fictional – unicorn.  As for the third bucket?  Who knew!  The thing was past done; a fetid puddle was gathering around, for it had a gap just above the bottom.

Mouth, having been summoned from the Destroyer's harem of imps, minced toward the foul throne; clad in a long sweeping cloak of the finest silk, it billowed in the stale, still air - and in the faces of Apoloyn's past playmates, who were basically regarded as june's and july's calendar pages, when it's october.   To add more insult, the forgotten "months" had the task of having made ready their Master's current one.   Mouth's sway only intensified their ever-churning jealous rage, for which they dare not act out; they were absolutely lime-green over Mouth's jewel-encrusted mini-halter and micro hot-panties set, and the matching spiked heels.  Oh, and the little bat-clip clutch too.  Circling mouth's neck, was a string of tightly bound frog's - each struggling to breath, for their mouths had been stuffed with various gem stones; several of the creatures had lost the struggle, and had expired.

Catching the scent, Apoolyn gushed, "Oh my dear, you smell lovely."  He patted a certain area of his lap. "Bring my lovely to me." Apoloyn commanded his past favorites, in a rather dismissive tone of voice, but one which the imp harem dare not even give a hint, upon their faces, of their desire to slake their increasing thirst for revenge. One of the imps, so wanted to pinch Mouth upon his heeled ankle, as he and the rest, lifted up the favorite, face forward.

Apoloyn, then soundly smacked one of the imps for, supposedly, being clumsy.  He then called for two of his rough-ups, then growled, pointing to the imp, who, startled, was picking himself off the greasy, mirey floor. "That one needs a few lessons on how to behave, when his Master calls."  The imp, now begging and pleading, but to no avail, was dragged off by one of the roughs; while the other rough detailed the fun, both would enjoy administering the lessons, within one of the dungeon rooms.  While Apoloyn was all stretched out, enjoying himself, with Mouth… the trembling, and very exhausted, cleaning crew toiled on.  Below the chamber came muffled screams which were answered by "tha-wack" after "tha-wack."

…

In a boarded up little restaurant, somewhere on Enoch's east side, two demons stood outside, peering into the cracks.  Both were furious, because inside, the Destroyer was wining and dining his flavor of the month - the very same little flavor from last month. Disgusting!  Inside, both were all goo-goo eyed as they partook the carefully prepared dishes of lizard brains - the bound little creatures were still alive, as well as various parts of other small creatures, who’d also been unable to get away.  The grimy dishes sat upon a once white tablecloth, now matted in various shades of dried vomit - and whatever fetid else. Both noisily chewed, their mouths open as they made conversation and kissyface. Mouth was wearing a backless cocktail gown, of fine silk; he was so beside himself with his double D augmentation, which wanted to pour forth from the mini-gown's plunging neckline. 

The one has-been, looking upon, was very miffed; the best he'd ever got was burgers and fries from McDees - the one that had to shut down - and had never reopened - because of some plumbing issues.  But he was way ahead of the other luzer, who was also looking on - he didn't even get that; just a quickie in the corridor, then getting tossed off the throne, inside of two weeks.  He-he-he, the first one glowered.

"Daddy has a little surprise for his lovely." Apoloyn pulled out a medium-sized package.  He placed the bowed and ribboned mirey parcel on the table, sliding it towards Mouth.  Mouth looked on, anticipating.  "Well, open it up, My dear."  Mouth tore open the package, and squealed with delight.  Another plaything, to try out among the hapless prisoners chained in Apoloyn's dungeons.  

Of course, the present had strings attached.  Apoloyn slid his chair back from the table, sprawling himself on the filth caked ornate chair, he then undid some buttons, while bellowing to the waiter to bring more wine.  The terrified human scampered in right away, pouring some sludge into, what was once a clear crystal glass.  "AND DON'T SPILL ANY!"  The waiter blubbered that he wouldn't, then got himself out of there as quickly as possible.  Apoloyn then pointed to the undone buttons.  Several hours had passed, for strong drink is known to have certain effects.

"For all tables are full of vomit and filthiness, so that there is no place clean."  Isaiah 28:8

Highlands journey continues

What? Isn't this forest vast enough

for every one that moves? The old medicine woman was more than a tad irritated.  Rachel and Ruthie, her daughter, had helped the old woman to her feet, while gathering the elder's things, which had also tumbled, when a wild nanny goat decided to brush the humans aside.  As predicted, a billy was on the nanny’s trail; they had been running along ridge rocks, and decided to make their pass through this part of the forest - as if everywhere else was Enochian sprawl.  The old woman was upset; if she wasn't tired, and achy enough, she'd also sprained her wrist.

Most High God did answer her ongoing prayer; she didn't want to die out here, in the wild, where rocky ground and prowling beasts, might only afford the men to dig a quick grave.  To be buried, alone, far from a cemetery, and soon forgotten - among people who, frankly, had more than enough on their plates... The Most High’s answer had been reassuring, but not precisely what the old woman had wanted to hear, for came that still small voice had been: "My grace is sufficient for thee."  

There for awhile, especially, those several lovely days, by the river, where they had all enjoyed some rest, the tightness in her chest had subsided to where she had, more or less, forgotten about it.  But it was back, and her trail-processed medicine wasn’t as effective, for the ingredients needed at least two weeks to dry upon the lattice.  While she'd been able to collect one or two items to serve as a substitute, while retrieving one of the last ingredients, a rhino, in his language, had trumpeted, "GET OUT!” Had that not been enough of an injury, up the trail a bit, the big beast decided to add insult to the poor tired humans.  He and his female had chosen a restful place - which the people had seen from a distance, and were planning to stop, for just a bit.  Nope.  The two beasts just had to choose that area, and not only that; the two beasts engaged in making a little rhino – and neither were they quiet about it. 

The people could only trudge onward.

"For this thing, I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me.  And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.  Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, upon that power of Christ may rest upon me." II Corinthians 12:8-9

"So, what were those two doing,

on a mountain, anyway?"  Rachael quietly asked Mash, her husband; the woman then glanced beside her. Their daughter was sound asleep; no wonder...  They were all tired, and about two minutes away from turning in for the evening.  "I can only guess they also are on the move, wanting a good distance."  He didn't care to elaborate how accurate his "guess" was, for but maybe three days into their journey, a cresty had been making, he believed, "her" way near their path; the great beast had been near enough - uncomfortably so - for him to have noticed, a certain etched in scar, and two or three other wounds upon the animal's body - one looked nasty.  Nope, those kind or scars didn't come from losing territorial fights with other beasts.  

"They're particular about their space too, I guess." Mash added, while patting his tool pouch. He’d just finished sharpening a hand-axe, it wasn't the best job, but would have to do, until he was able to replace the flint, with one that didn’t have a gash.  "But you'd think both the cresty and the two rhinos would have settled in one of the lower areas, after all, we crossed enough valleys," Rachael responded. Their daughter stirred, turned over, and was back to sleep.  "I was thinking the same thing."  He leaned toward her, looked around, then continued.  "Frankly, we left bad enough, but I think," he leaned closer, then lowered his voice, almost to a whisper "they've been leaving worse." Rachael had heard, while the cresty’s bone structure, unlike the rhino’s, wasn’t designed to haul ore-wagons, the former were put into the arena – already vicious enough in their natural habitat, were made more so by the cramped and filthy conditions, under which they’d been bound.  As with everyone else, the couple turned in. 

What’s wrong with people! Rachael muttered to herself - she'd also seen scars upon animals.  Why wouldn't, why shouldn't, beasts be angry with people!   She nudged their sleeping child towards herself, while nudging herself closer to her husband’s warmth.

Meanwhile, in response to the smoke signal

of the other core group.  Elam’s group had, two days ago, sent up another one, and would have responded, but the air currents were still being contrary.  They'd laid the drowned young man to rest, and were grateful to their Most High God for His allowing the current to bring the young man to the bank, instead of washing him so far downstream, to where - between deeper waters and denser forests, he'd of never been recovered.  Such was the case of a great grandson, so many years ago.  The young man had been doing about the same thing - horsing around with his cousins.  

"No, I won't tell anyone," the elder assured his great, great, great grandson, who sat upon the elder's knee, then added, "you lost your brother, Lod; full grown men cry about that sort of thing."  The boy hugged the old man, then ran off, for his father was calling him to help with something; that which was really beyond the skill or strength of an eight or nine year old. Was more of a means to keep, a - for all intents and purposes - a singleton occupied.  While the boy had a sister, just a few years older, still, just a girl - big difference.  

His only consolation was he, somehow - and Elam couldn't explain it - but he'd the assurance that the young man was, truly, in a better place.  Not so, for many who, go on ignoring the LORD God, and then, leave this fallen word – the same people you know and love; people who work hard, take care of their families, people who don't take things which belong to others, people who help others, when their crops fail.  That was great cause for sadness.

The men saw the smoke coming from the valley below the next ridge. Soon, they'd be settling, and building real dwellings - not just lean-tos, which let in the pre-dawn mists, making them and their belongings damp and musty.  Oh, to have things like clothes lines to dry garments and blankets, and to have on-hand things like lavender, roses, and patchouli to make textiles smell nice - never mind, enough food to have the time and energy for the work involved.  Soon, they'd once again be landed, not homeless beggars, run off by yet another four-footed duchess guarding her patri-line's grape grove or small clearing where wild wheat and potatoes grew.  Foraged provisions, of course, weren’t as tasty, and were more of a hassle to prepare, than were the cultivated foods, but, better than going hungry.  The three or four apple trees, they’d happened upon, the apples were small, rather hard, and more than a few of the apples had worms.  Nothing like finding half a worm ☹

---

"Mama, when we git land," Tommy spoke in a somewhat loud voice - Barb didn't bother about her son's pronunciation; knowing the partial source of it, because a certain man, her son was head over heels, used words like “git.”  The other part?  Well, the neglect of the boy’s lessons, that was on her; Barb knew it; she’d been reminded of just that, more than necessary – with a not-so-covert comment or two, thrown in, here and there, concerning her fitness as a mother. That was yet another trail, for another day; a day when huts were built, fields planted, bedding made ready - she didn't want to think about...the inevitable.  Neither she, nor her son, could go on living off people's charity; just wasn't right, she'd have to ... learn new skills.  The boy continued, “I'ma gonna grow BIG fig trees, and if’n that baboon comes around, I'ma WHACK her a good one!"

"Sweetie," the word was out before she could call it back - her son wasn't a baby anymore.  "Son, the animals can only eat what's available; we can grow things." 

That baboon was still the talk of the mobile town; a real low point in their journey.  Though on the last leg on it, the lack of food and rest was taking a toll on all of them.  Glorianna ran her fingers through her hair, for her brush was not readily available, nor was she sure which pouch.  A tress caught hold of a jagged fingernail; she redid her bun.  Wrapped in her fingers were more than a few strands which, from stress and malnutrition, had fallen loose.  She wanted to sob, but wouldn't allow herself - not one single tear.  

"For I have five brethren; that he may testify unto them, lest they also come into this place of torment.  Abraham saith unto him, They have Moses and the prophets; let them hear them."  Luke 16:28-29

“He looketh upon men, and if any say, I have sinned, and perverted that which was right, and it profited me not; He will deliver his soul from going into the pit, and his life shall see the light.” Job 33:27-28

It was no big secret,

Glori and Rachael didn't get along, and neither was it breaking news that something had been brewing between the two, for ... well, most the journey.  The people had stopped in the late afternoon to make camp.  While anxious to put this long, arduous, and nerve-wracking journey behind them, still, they were just flat out tired.  It was decided to make an early camp of it, then be ... well, reasonably rested enough to get on the trail in the morning, following breakfast. Estimates were, they'd be off this mountain by the following day, and two days after, going up the final mountain.  So, a few more days yet, but probably more like a week.  According to the tallies, which two or three of the people had been keeping count, they'd been on the trail for several months, and had travelled about 6,000 furlongs (about 750 miles).  A terribly long distance, but it had been decided, before the groups had so much as set one foot before the other, the trek would count. 

As if the physical hardships weren't enough, back aways, as they trod over yet another mountain, the reality of leaving civilization behind, never again to visit a marketplace, where time-saving implements and some little luxuries were available for purchase, had begun to settle hard upon all of them, at one or more points. Glorianna's nails were all broken and jagged; the lovely pastel pink long faded/worn away.  She glanced over at Rachael; the girl was younger, and prettier, and back home hadn’t worn either rouge or nail polish – unbeknownst to Gloria, Rachael’s control-freak husband had forbade her to wear cosmetics (at least in public).

The little nail booth had been in one of Glori’s dreams, the night before last.  Into the shop, she'd taken her middle granddaughter - whom she hadn't seen in a while, since her daughter, was with another group - to have her nails painted; the child was so excited.  Grandma and granddaughter, with their nails all done up, then visited another booth, where beaded handbags and such were sold; just browsing and shopping.  It was as if, she could smell the scented soaps, candles, and such.  As Glorianna was about to purchase a tiny unicorn pin for the young girl, the wonderful afternoon faded to musty blankets, body odor, smokey embers, and dawn breaking in the eastern sky.

"Will the unicorn be willing to serve thee, or abide by thy crib?  Canst thou bind the unicorn with his band in the furrow? or will he harrow the valleys after thee?"  Job 39:9-10

Perfect place, Glorianna noticed

a large tree, growing near the clearing's edge, its many branches spreading out in all directions, affording enough privacy... "AH-AH-AH!" she called out to her daughter and the girl with her.  "Stay close."  The girls stopped in their tracks.  The other girl's mother also nodded the same message.  "But mmommm...," Glorianna's daughter, pointed to one of three boys running along near the tree line.  "THEY'RE BOYS." Mama bear ended the discussion, with a hand signal for her daughter to come help with the cleaning up and packing away the supper things.  The girls trudged toward their respective mothers, while muttering something about boys being lucky, because they could whatever they pleased.

The old medicine woman tried to catch the wooden trench, but her bony trembling hand wasn't cooperating; the travel-jostled serving vessel fell to the ground, and broke in two.  "I'm so sorry."  She apologized to the woman who'd brought it along.  "I'll get you another tomorrow, in town." She then said something about hoping the caravan having made it in, because the merchant had said about expecting a certain line of crockery.  

"No honey," Rachael whispered to Ruthie,"...not out of it...sometimes our brains...uhm, pretend, in order to keep us moving forward."  The mother's vision landed upon the source of that uncalled-for phrase.  Nope, Rachael had no intention of saying anything to Anak’s mother - wasn't necessary.  Was only a matter of time, before the little monster would be "out of it," after his father caught him at whatever sort of foolishness.   Rachael, blinked back tears, while watching another woman carry the two pieces, setting them atop a pile of kindling, which would torch off the night-fire.   No more pretty cups and platters, embroidered covers, gracing smooth tables; just rough-hewn vessels upon heavy rough-grain tables.  No more pretty gowns and slippers, just hastily woven shapeless sacks tied with hemp-rope.  Living more like...baboons, than as people.

"Hey, what th'...? a woman exclaimed,

as several grain cakes flew off the bark tray she'd been carrying from where the men and boys had been taking their breakfast.  The last of the cakes lay broken upon the ground; the women, who had been up awhile preparing them had, before them, two choices: broken pieces, or none at all.  "THA-WUNK!" one man's fist met another man's jaw. The other man reciprocated with a punch to the nose; then both were rolling on the ground, punching and kicking one another.   The cakes forgotten, most the group gathered around to watch the a.m. news update - for it was no surprise, something had been brewing between the two.  

"THAT IS ENOUGH!"  Cainan (Lamech’s great, great, great grandfather) their Chief approached the chattering crowd, some of whom had started placing bets...with whatever they barely had.  "I SAID..."  Their chief having to repeat himself??   That was enough, the men, women and children quietly dispersed, back to whatever they'd been doing, prior to the news update.  And until their leader was out of earshot, the people withheld from one another, their post-broadcast commentaries.

Both men however, were still itching to settle whatever matter was between them, but were unable, since the one who threw the first punch was kept from delivering a subsequent one, as remittance for the clobber he'd just received.  Restrained, by the big man who held his arms in check, he instead, bellowed out a few choice words.  The other man's restraint wasn't however that of stronger arms, but the voice of his Chief.   Hothead, however wasn’t ready to let it go. "...knock yer %#=$ block off, sonnyboy, ya HEAR ME??"  Methuselah’s, (the Chief’s great, great grandson) patience was wearing thin; he calmly raised his hand, as he approached the balding hothead, who then immediately ceased his ranting and carrying on.  The warning was understood, and feared, by every man - young and old.  To receive a headman’s slap was worse than a thrashing; the latter given by men to disorderly men, but the former given by husbands and fathers to their insubordinate wives and daughters.  Hothead immediately lowered his gaze, and bowed his head; the pair of strong arms loosened their grasp, releasing him. 

A few moments later.

"And YOU," hothead pointed "need to keep THOSE well under wraps."  The rag, moistened just everso, with water and some kind of balm, felt a world of good as it dabbed the swellings and bleeding upon his face; hothead cooled off a bit, as his eyes moved from one globe to the other, both pulsating before him.   Was no big wonder, he could only conclude, was only normal that any red-blooded man wouldn't try to catch a glimpse of their outline, as she went about her day.  So close, just a little feel... but that wasn't meet, not with people nosing about.  The woman turned to immerse the rag into the bowl of healing.  Wringing it out, she reapplied, finishing up.  "Wife, you hear me?" Semi-cooled-off hothead then smacked her a good one on her backside.  "OW!" the sudden cracking sound reached the ears of some.  "That HURTS!!" She exclaimed, rubbing the area.  "Good!"  He arose, and walked away to rejoin the men, leaving snickers and a giggle or two in his wake.

But not everyone had attended the brief two-act a.m. drama.  Over by the flat stone, where the meal had been prepared, a lone woman sat, rocking herself a bit.  In her hands was part of a broken ceramic bowl, the rest of it, in pieces.  Nothing fancy, just one of those three-for-two-coppers deals from Kresgey's booth; the other piece had gone over the cliff, some ways back, and the third piece...?  "The big lummox," Barb sobbed quietly, cradling the piece.  She then wrapped it into a rag- one of few mementos of her brief decades with Tom.   Blinking back tears, she placed it in one of the satchels, upon her person.   Nearby her right foot, lay a gemstone; she noticed it, but didn’t bother picking it up – even a full money-bag of them, couldn’t mend the carefully wrapped treasure which lay in her satchel. The sun was well up in the sky, reaching toward the mid-morning.  Around her, the sounds of things being packed onto carts, onto backs, shoulders, around waists; their few animals being led to their places along the trail.  Her son, who had been helping another boy load something, ran toward his mother.   Both took their place upon the trail. 

It was time to move on.

 

For safety’s sake, the people and their animals had to press in, for they were traveling near bird-lizard territory.  Of all times, that’s how it goes.  Just in the nick of time, Rachael was able to slip behind a nearby shrub; but it offered virtually no privacy.  Expelling the sourness from her stomach, she blew her nose on its leaves, then wiped the remains with a half-soiled rag – for nice clean ones were a luxury, the people could not afford at this critical time.  If this, and other privations, weren’t irritating enough, upon returning to her place within the column, from behind her she overheard the flapping of a large beak – one belonging, not to a winged fowl, but to Peninnah.  It was only a brief matter of time, before the others… The sheer monotony of putting one foot, before the other, bipedal beaks would certainly flap and twitter all the more.  Rachael had “tossed her breakfast” yesterday, and two mornings earlier.  At this leg of the long journey, she knew the drill; the entire community would know that Mash and the Mrs. were expecting a little Mash.  Really, she had wanted be the first to tell her Husband – but such is trail life.

"Can we go home now?"

Barb murmured in a low monotone.  Her son, Tommy, struggled to break free of being held, for he was almost an older boy, not a baby, and certainly not a girl.  "Can we go home now?" the widow repeated, oblivious to a swift kick to her upper leg, followed by another near the same area.   "Honey," the old medicine woman, placed a bony arm around Barb's shoulders.  "It's alright now, Tommy is safe." She patted the Barb's shoulder, "Honey, let him go, so he can run over and thank that nice young man..."  Glori nearly let out a chuckle for she and Bear were about the same age - she reconsidered, since at 700-something, people in their 200s and 300s must seem like kids.

"...wanna go home...can we...?  The woman's eyes had seen some eight or nine hundred pounds of dire wolf lunge from the thicket, for one of their lambs, but her brain was working overtime to, at least for now, unsee those massive jaws, full of pointed yellow teeth.  She stood motionless, staring, "...please, can we…?"  Around her, the people were calming their animals, and each other.  From behind her, young boys, circled around the two women, to get a closer look at the massive beast, and the bloody spearhead, which Bear had pulled from the animal's side.  "...there's two out of it," Anak, the younger, snickered to his fellow; a certain sound from Anak’s mother, clearing her throat, however, made him wish he could recall the remark.  The youth's father had also heard his wife’s familiar "ahhmm, ahmm."

"Just a little ways, sweetie."  The old woman pointed a bony index finger. "We'll be home soon, you'll see!"  The old woman took off her wrap, and placed it around the younger, “We'll first stop at my house,” she gleamed, “and I'll make us a nice pot of raspberry vanilla tea," the elder coaxed the younger forward.  "Oh, and I have some of those little cakes, you know, the ones you like so much."   The old woman reached into one of her bags, and pulled out a small bottle, opened it, and poured a tiny bit of purplish liquid into a cup, "Honey, you drink this.”  The old woman handed Barb a small cup, and continued, “will take the chill off, until we get there, okay?"   Nearby nostrils picked up the scent of what wouldn't be available until after they were settled.

"Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish, and wine unto those that be of heavy hearts."  Proverbs 31:6

A few hours later, the group having made camp, and settling in for the oncoming moonless night, a teary eyed little girl pulled her mat closer to her mother.  “Mamma, is widow-wolf gonna come back and git us?”  “No honey,” the girl’s mother, responded dabbing a cloth to her youngest’s cheeks, “she’s about headed up the ridge, to howl for…” Glori stopped herself, for her thoughts had been preoccupied… She then continued, “for a mate.”  Inwardly, the mother of several, was of a mind to do a bit of howling herself, but upon the trail, there was neither time nor space for husbands and wives to get alone with one another.  To get alone, for real.  Sure, the stolen moments here and there, behind this or that bushy tree, was better than nothing, but still, wasn’t the same.  The cloth, a bit dingy, was yet another reminder of the privations of trail life – no, trail existence.  She didn’t mean to be ungrateful, to the Most High, for His blessings - they were above ground, that, so far, none of them had fallen prey to tusk or tooth, nor had ended up being dragged off somewhere into the surrounding forest, to be eaten, perhaps, while yet alive.  But frankly, how she longed to immerse and suds herself in clear running water; this being dirty and smelly, and wearing and sleeping the same, was getting old – and RANK!!  What made things even worse was, that time of month – again.  Nasty!

Barb held, in her lap,

what would, not too distant, seemed like a bundle of blankets and clothing.  The top-most layer was her gown.   "She's home now." Barb spoke monotoned to the woman who'd awakened, and had come over to check on them both.  "But there's no fire there.", Barb added.   A nearby woman stirred, joining the other.  "What do people do, if they've no warm clothing? Must be cold there...if hell is hot then, Paradise must be..." Barb paused, then began to quietly sob all over again.  The two women, glanced at each other, shaking their heads.  "Sweetie," the first woman spoke up, while nodding to the other to go get help, "She's safe, in the place of comfort, Pastor says..."  The people around the two stirred awake.  "You put this on," a woman handed Barb a gown – for Barb was sitting, shivering in only her shift, but was oblivious

"But Abraham said, Son, remember that thou in thy lifetime  receivedst  thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things; but now he is comforted, and thou art tormented."  Luke 16:25

"I GODDA WWHUUT??" Baphomet whined;

with such a short time - and growing shorter, the last place he wanted to spend any of his remaining time, was stirring up trouble among Sethites.  "Seriously, what the...heck!" The h-e-double-golf-clubs word wasn't one which the part male, part female, and part beast (and all corrupted) cared to utter - much less, think about.  "Why can't you send...? "Baphomet’s whine was cut off.  "Because I'm sending you." Satan countered, his voice confident, calm, low-key, but very irritated with his board member. "Now, kindly do as I request.  And please, get your slimy tail OFF my conference table; I just had it buffed."   The devil sniffed, shaking his triangular horned head, while pulling a hankie from a silken front pocket; he began rebuffing the spot, but another incident stopped his effort. "Oh no, not again," he moaned.  "GROT, really!" Satan shook his head.  As Baphomet headed out the conference room doorway, the devil called out, "and take Grot with you - there, he'll have entire forests to ... to muck up."  

Baphomet was not happy with his assignment.  Why couldn't Bully do the job?  But nnooo, Bully gets to continue possessing KingPin - a certain pimp, who operated in one of the better sections of Enoch.  That's where the action is.  While Baphomet, especially, hated human females, at least Cainite females, especially the urban ones, were entertaining - unlike, like those obedient to their own husbands... Sethite kine.  Cainite gals were skilled at stirring up trouble – and even poisons to offload husbands or lovers.  Unlike those simpering Sethite broads, who kept themselves layered up, even in the afternoon heat, for no better reason than their respective father's and husband's say so.  While Cainite hookers were known to viciously fight each other and lure their unsuspecting clients into situations - where they'd end up robbed, beaten to a pulp or both - Sethite girls and women, generally, were cooperative with one another, as they quietly served their fathers and husbands even the better food and drink, while they, themselves, would making do with lesser portions.  

Disgusting.  And even more so, was the activity around him.  Both devil and demon had arrived on the scene, a few hours after sunset - though Grot was contentedly doing his business in the forest. The human’s muted conversation was as expected.  Huts to be built - the first, of course, would be the worship house...ghaaggg!!! Fields to be plowed, corn, peas and flax to be grown, thread to be spun, clothing to be woven.  And based on, another type of marital communication, children to be born.  CHILDREN!!! BLUUCH. How pathetically boring is that?

Later in the evening, when all were asleep, except for several men on guard-shift, a little bunny rabbit scampered over to a plant, but it didn't smell right.  Unfortunately, the creature, had dawdled for a second or two, too long.  It fell over dead.

"That they may teach the young women to be sober, to love their husbands, to love their children.  To be discrete, chaste, keepers at home, good, obedient to their own husbands, that the word of God be not blasphemed.  Young men likewise exhort to be soberminded."  Titus 2:4-6

"Husbands, love your wives, and be not bitter against them." Colossians 3:19

"The people had finally arrived.

“Holy Hannah!” Glorianna’s jaw dropped.  A unicorn stallion galloped a distance from them.  Nothing at all like that cute little necklace she'd bought for her youngest granddaughter.    This creature was about the size of a wooly mammoth, and certainly not one you'd want to pet and gush over; nor would a strong man, not even Cousin Bear, would attempt to approach, let alone ride.   They'd reached a rather large clearing, which was, for the present unoccupied; based on the several mounds, about a cubit or two in height, a family of long-necks had evidently been feeding here several day past; their footprints about a long and wide as Glori was tall.  Plant eaters - as long as you didn't end up getting stepped upon, you were fine.  One of her daughters, scanned the clearing, which was spotted with young trees, now rendered almost leafless.  That meant...but the girl, needing assurance, concerning predators following prey, asked her mother.  "Will the other kind, not come around?"

"Oh goodness no, they've gone."  Glori, then paused, remembering, a day or so back, coming down off the mountain, when they'd seen a female thunder-lizard.  "You needn't worry honey, by now, some ole buck's probably ..."   Barb's eyes shot wide open, her hands immediately lowered to cover Tommy's ears, but it was too late; the phrase was out. “Hmmph, all that woman ever thought about…and babies.  Wasn’t eight enough?  

Their very first construction, was an altar of unhewn stone.  Upon it, a lamb had been offered up to the LORD God.  The sacrifice was two-fold: to give thanks to the Most High for getting them safely there, and to pray the well-being of the other group, of whom – based on their last signal, were yet a day, maybe two, days out.  The other group’s current location, would soon be updated, when a certain species of bird began its mid-day chirp – and several of the young men would shimmy up tall trees, and look out over the southern sky for updates, scribed within the curvy column of tar-ish black smoke.

The first few days were taken up with gathering whatever fruits and roots were edible.  There were plenty of wild potatoes and carrots growing here and there. While the apples were yet a bit too green, a grove of wild grapes were ripe, though not as tasty as the ones cultivated back home.  The people were simply grateful to be able to gather enough, and not go to bed only half sated   Around the second or third day, the men had located resources needed to repair and replace tools; with which they’d cobbled together a temporary dwelling – one sufficient for women and their young children to take nighttime shelter from the chill mountain air.   A beautiful stream swirled its way through the area, and connected to two or three other waterways. 

The first permanent building, was their Worship House.  Over the following days greenery had begun to climb upon its latticed walls; already several shoots had already begun to wend their ways onto the latticed roof.  The rough-hewn pulpit would be smoothed out at a later time; three or four benches were in place – offering, at least some of work-weary moms and grandmoms a place to sit under the preaching.  Pastor’s initial Sabbath Day sermon, in this new building, was brief; the songs - which preceded, and had followed - were but a few, everyone was tired, and needed to simply rest.   

Even Bear’s muscles ached; the previous night’s moist chill didn’t help matters.  While prior to having made this long journey, he’d passed several nights upon the first mountain – so it wasn’t like mountain chill came to him as any major surprise; what he, nor most anyone else, had anticipated, was, even the valleys were cooler, and moister, than their native foot-hills.   Bear didn’t even own a blanket; only his tattered cloak, which had been more than sufficient in the balmy lowlands. The service concluded, he found himself noticing two or three of the couples departing to their respective homesteads – wives and husbands generate warmth between them, whereas a single cannot. 

…

"Hheyy," one of the women - from the third group, who’d arrived the previous day - had immersed and scrubbed a blanket, and was presently hanging it to dry upon lengths of rope, suspended between leafless young trees, "the musties are gone!"  She was amazed, for normally, once that sour stink gets into things...A nearby woman sniffed at the things she'd hung to dry.    She smiled, giving a heart-felt Thanks to the Most High, for she’d only had one other shift; her third she’d given to a woman who had arrived with only the raiment upon her back – Group #3, after having gotten a bit turned around, had ended up taking a somewhat alternate route; unfortunately, that meant crossing where the river, two ridges south of them, became rather turbulent. 

Much work was to be done.  While there was some flax and cotton growing here and there, and some wool to be harvested from the few lambs, there wasn't enough to yet replenish, the people's textile needs.  And even more so, for they’d received the smoke signal from Group 2 – who, apparently, had also run into problems.  For now, the people had to make do with what they had.   The women were grateful they and their families could wear, and sleep upon, fabrics - however few – which no longer harbored that unpleasant trail smell. On down the line a bit, two other women and a daughter of one of them were busy hanging their items, while folding others which were now dry.  A third woman joined them, but just for a moment. Long enough to whisper something. 

"You don't say...i didn't think...so soon...well,.  Oh, I don't know, think it's kinda sad.  Guess you're right...no time to plan much of anything...  Not even a dress...Wouldn't want to be in her sandals...Oh tell me about it!" The whisperer made a sour face, while cocking her head, in the direction, of a certain hut, "...has to be an entire forest caught up in that beard...ugh..."  A few giggles had erupted, then a "Shh, here she comes."

“And there shalt thou build an altar unto the LORD thy God, an altar of stones; thou shalt not lift up any iron tool upon them.  Thou shalt build the altar of the LORD they God of whole stones: and thou shalt offer burnt offerings thereon unto the LORD thy God:” Deuteronomy 27:5-6

Headman Jared had finished the two

chairs, upon which he and his wife were seated, between them sat a table, laden with various fruitcakes and nuts.  "Boy's growing like a weed." Jared nodded to his wife, as one of their great grandchildren ran off with a cake in his hand.  "The LORD is good to us."  Over the bounty, the couple, nearing middle age, joined hands.  "That The Most High Is."  Both sat, not saying a whole lot.  Just enjoying their second Sabbath rest in this new land - an entire day of, really, no work; technically, work could start up about an hour or two before sunset, but there wasn't much point in getting into anything, besides pulling a few weeds, or mending a garment.  The day prior, the work had, essentially stopped around the mid-afternoon, because, as usual, tools needed cleaned, checked and put away.

While Mrs. Jared did certainly empathize with Barbara, still the young widow did bring the temporary custody situation upon herself.  Tommy’s lessons had, obviously, been about non-existent; it was little wonder the boy had the time to invent, and not only that, but entice the other boys into playing “cool monster” games.  Not cool, whatsoever.  Both were thinking the same thought, but chose not to articulate.  And anyway, was one of those things, neither could do much about; one of those things, which was better given to the LORD God to resolve ... or not.  His choice.  Neither were they the only two among the group, who looked around at the hundred some, individuals, thinking, "So few of us."  But soon there'd be one more; the couple's unborn – and likely their last - child hadn't yet kicked; a bit early for that.

…

Lamech, Jared’s great grandson, was the group’s most eligible bachelor. And he had every intention of keeping it that way.  Though certainly of both age, and means, to take on a wife, he was, at present, not interested.  He wasn't ready to be tied down; still young, there was plenty of time to have to deal with that sort of drama.  Of course, his decision to remain a bachelor, didn't sit too well with his father, Methuselah.  During the journey, his father had, once or twice, broached the subject - reminding him about the consequences of procrastination.  In other words, before they'd took to the trail, Lamech's father had even suggested that Lamech take to wife, his brother's widow.

It wasn't like he had anything against the woman.   Well actually, if he had to take a wife, he would certainly take one free of scandal.  As far as he was concerned, Barb, his widowed sister-in-law was a bit too wild.  From what he understood, her father had chosen a husband for her, and the next thing you know, his brother Tom brings her home to be his bride – that was, after the both of them running off to Purveyors, where they’d lived in sin; needless to say, the incident had caused some tension, between the two would-be father-in-laws.  

On his rounds, for the men took turns guarding the community, both day and, especially at, night - he glanced at a nearby field, where young flax could already be seen.  Between the rows, some women were pulling weeds and putting them in a barrow - when full, one of the boys would wheel it over to the thicket line, and dump it.  From the thicket, two duck-sized lizards jumped out at the boy.  Nonplussed, the youngster grabbed the one by its neck, and twisted; the other lizard took off.  The boy wiped his bloodied hand on his trousers and continued on his way.  

…

“WRAAAHH, I’m the Gargoyle…” The boy ran past, almost colliding into a big man, who was on his way back from cutting trees.  What's the fuss?  It was just a game, played by boys who thought a gargoyle was just a bigger, uglier form of bird lizard.  Life was tough enough, let 'em have fun, the big fella shook his head.  Did the youngsters really need to know, that a gargoyle's call wasn't a wraahhh, but a piercing screech, one from the bowels of hell?  Yes, let not this fallen world, rob the youngsters of their innocence.  Soon enough, young boys would grow towards manhood, and understand what some of the fallen angels had done, after leaving their first estate.  Rebel angels, chasing pretty women, could be understandable - though unforgivable, but, on the side, going after ....??  Ugh.

…

Two oak tables had been pushed together; these sat beneath a lattice – upon which leafy vines had already begun to wend their ways upward and across.  For the present, the area, was presently serving as the temporary Council House.  Nearby, other tables either sat, or leaned, in whatever state of construction.   The men’s meeting was now underway.  The land, having already been apportioned to each of the Fathers - whom either had their living spaces built, or almost, each looked forward to clearing more trees, and building a permanent Council House - where they could meet, and discuss matters, free of interruptions.  From nearby, shrill giggling came from two or three young girls, who then, thankfully, darted off elsewhere.  The background noise subsided, but only for a moment; a group of young boys, began playing a form of tiddly-winks, while rough-housing some, around a nearby stump.  One of the somewhat oversized, and misshapen, game pieces flew over the cup, and hit Chief Cainan right square on his forehead.  The elder, quite irritated, stood up; the boys immediately scattered, leaving behind the crystalline game pieces.     

 "And God looked upon the earth, and, behold, it was corrupt; for all flesh had corrupted his way upon the earth."  Genesis 6:12

“For if God spared not the angels that sinned, but cast them down to hell, and delivered them into chains of darkness, to be reserved unto judgment;” 2 Peter 2:4

Barb overheard a passing voice

Not too much in a hurry, to get me moved along, are we!  She could only but raise her eyebrows, at the other passerby's comment - something about an extension to their porch.  With everyone settled in their new homes, she was only one who remained in the shelter.  Her mother had been among the last of the women and children to leave the night shelter; her father had been a bit slow in building his house – not on account of sloth.  Actually, the delay was because of sloth – a BIG one; the six-cubit high (9 feet) creature had taken a swipe.  Her father’s right arm would take weeks to heal; her brother had finished building their parents’ home.

At this moment, Barb was technically, a homeless.  An essentially, also childless, for early that morning, her son's great grandparents had, again, taken the boy; there was nothing she could do, but hand over his satchel to his great, great grandmother.  No point in making a scene; all she could do was hug her son, tell him she loved him, and to mind his grampa and gramma.  Lessons.   Oh, that again!  What was the big hurry, her son hadn’t yet turned twelve.  Lessons, neglected…whatever!   Evidently, served as a handy stand-in, since more than a few little birdies had been twittering along the trail, concerning the sling’s actual owner, and the object’s actual thief.   At least for the time being, her son was better off in the custody of his grandfather – of being kept occupied with text and numbers - especially since, things weren’t over between Tommy and Nahash.

Barb couldn’t help but fear for the boy – that is, the older one, Nahash.  It was better, for all concerned, that chapter be ended; the page turned.    While Tommy’s appearance and mannerisms, resembled more like his father with every passing day, the lad’s scrappy nature came from her side of the family - namely, her father.  Why, a man his age, going on like he’s fifty-something, she shook her head – though, she couldn’t help but having felt more pride than she had ought, that afternoon, upon the trail, when her father and that taller man had squared off, over…what!  She’d really no idea, perhaps the altercation – like the others – had been sired from the monotony.   

Near the enclosure’s entrance, remained a satchel.  But even that, she did not bring with her.  Her things, what few there remained from that long journey, had been taken by two women who'd stopped in, not long after her son had been taken from her.  Her ears perked, she looked up from the beans she was snapping; her son was calling to one of his cousins?  Well, the boy seemed happy enough, as if his living arrangements didn’t affect him one way or the other; Barb felt mixed emotions, but Tommy was happy, and that’s what mattered. There was much activity going on around her; she smelled potatoes and cabbage being slow cooked, cucumbers and peppers being sauteed in an onion sauce, bread baking, corn cobs boiling.  Since having arrived, her work had been the same as the other women: gathering food, grasses for both textiles and mats, pulling weeds – and, of course, the never-ending washing and hanging laundry; her wardrobe, being limited, she had to do laundry more often than many of the other women. 

The amount of work to be done, in getting established in this new land, was overwhelming to think about; instead, she wanted to be out there – getting things done, like everyone else. But today, that wasn’t happening.  Today, she was stuck inside; only earlier had she been able to leave the enclosure – but only long enough to bathe in the nearby stream.  Long enough to feel embarrassment, when one of the other women nodded to another – it wasn’t either of the two or three had much flesh upon their frames either.  Though she did not believe any of them harbored malice, still she needn’t anyone’s facial expressions to tell her that she was flat as a griddle-cake.  Why couldn’t this wait, at least a few more weeks?  Long enough to at least put on sufficient weight, to be presentable.  While Barb had always been slender, the long journey had even gone as far as to exposed ribs.

Two women entered the enclosure. "Come on now," one spoke, in a cherry voice, while opening the satchel. "Isn't this lovely!" The other held up a dress, and said something about, how The Most High had blessed them, by providing the time and means.  The two descended upon her.  The one pulled off both her robe and shift. The other had brought a jug of perfumed water. Next came the perfumed oil, followed by a little jibe, about not having to explain anything.  Both women broke into peals of laughter concerning thick stubby fingers.   Very funny, the two were wives – not widows, nor spinsters.  Barb nervously glanced at her slender digits.  Would it hurt?  The only man she’d known, was Tom.  That night, beyond the thicket, beneath an elm. It had hurt, at first, but not for long.  And had it, he’d not been the sort of man to continue.  One of the sisters then pulled out a third bottle, uncorked it, and handed it to the bride-to-be.  To calm herself, Barb took a rather generous sip of the strong liquid.  The two sisters, still giggling, each partook.  Barb took another sip, then handed it back.