Authors: Chad Oliver
Mists of Dawn (96 page)
Mark
charged
at
the
snarling
battle
and
took
careful
aim
with
his
rock.
The
Neanderthal
had
Fang’s throat
in
his
hands
now,
crushing
it
like
a
vise.
Fang held
on
with
a
death-hold,
but
his
eyes
were
bulging piteously,
begging
Mark
for
help.
He
got
it.
Mark
hit
the
Neanderthal’s
skull
with
the jagged
rock,
pounding
the
rock
down
with
all
his might.
The
half-man
still
did
not
release
the
dog. Mark’s
rock-filled
fist
came
down
again—and
again and
again.
Maddened
now
by
a
drive
he
had
not
known
he possessed,
Mark
snatched
up
the
Neanderthal’s
stone knife
where
it
had
fallen
in
the
grass
and
went
in
for the
kill.
Exhausted,
Mark
sank
down
in
the
grass
while
Fang staggered
to
his
feet
and
licked
his
face.
Mark
reached up
and
scratched
the
dog’s
ears,
fighting
to
get
his breath.
He
felt
himself
drifting
down
the
night
shadows;
it
was
so
pleasant
lying
in
the
warm
grass
.
.
.
Tlaxcan.
His
memory
returning,
Mark
got
wearily
to
his
feet and
hurried
back
to
his
friend.
Tlaxcan
was
sitting
up on
the
ground,
holding
his
head
in
his
hands;
the
Neanderthal
Mark
had
shot
still
sprawled
beside
him.
Mark helped
him
to
his
feet.
“How
do
you
feel?”
he
asked.
“Are
you
all
right?”
“I
feel.
.
.
That
is
enough
in
itself,”
Tlaxcan
smiled. “Come,
my
friend,
the
night
winds
are
almost
upon
us.”
“I’m
not
going
with
you,
Tlaxcan,”
Mark
said
slowly, his
stomach
hollow
within
him.
Tlaxcan
looked
at
him,
the
smile
vanishing
from
his face.
“I
must
go
away,”
Mark
said,
trying
to
make
Tlaxcan understand.
“It
is
not
that
I
wish
to
leave
my
friend, but
I
must
go
away.”
Tlaxcan
hesitated.
“You
will
return,
Mark?”
“Perhaps,”
Mark
said,
knowing
that
he
was
lying. He
would
never
see
Tlaxcan
again.
The
blood-red
sun
was
very
low
in
the
west,
only its
upper
tip
still
showing
above
the
mountains,
holding
the
night
shadows
at
bay.
The
long
grasses
began to
ripple
under
the
whisper
of
the
cool
night
wind.
Tlaxcan
did
not
argue.
No
doubt
his
friend
had
good reasons
for
what
he
did,
and
it
was
not
good
to
question a
friend’s
action.
Mark
would
go
his
way,
and
Tlaxcan would
go
his.
Tlaxcan
smiled
again
and
placed
his
right hand
on
Mark’s
shoulder.
“Orn,”
he
said
simply.
“We
shall
be
brothers
always.”
“Orn,”
Mark
echoed
him.
“We
shall
be
brothers always.”
With
that,
Tlaxcan
turned
without
another
word
and walked
eastward
across
the
plains,
starting
the
long journey
back
to
his
people
and
his
home.
He
did
not look
back.
Fang
sat
quite
still
in
the
grass,
looking
up
at
Mark with
questioning
eyes.
Mark
scratched
the
wolf-dog’s ears
and
smoothed
the
soft
hair
on
the
back
of
his
neck.