Western Europe, early summer, 70,000 years ago. The bison graze peacefully in a forest clearing, knee deep in the lush grass of the water meadow. Their tails swish back and fro in an endless battle against swarming flies. An elderly male feeds alone, so close to the dark shadow of the trees that the black and brown of his body almost merges into the gloom. The great beast is watchful, suspicious, and alert for predators lurking in the undergrowth.
Two young Neanderthals watch the solitary bison from close downwind, hugging the ground among the trees. They carry stout wooden spears with stone points, are naked, so they can move quickly and in stealth. The hunters had slipped into place at first light. Like their prey, carefully selected the night before, their eyes are never still, on the watch for lions looking for an easy kill. Both men seem to melt invisibly into their surroundings, their bodies smeared with mud and grass. Imperceptibly, they creep forward in absolute silence, freezing motionless whenever the bison looks up. Gradually they separate, signaling one another with their eyes, a partnership honed during many hunts. An hour later, the sun is high overhead. The hunters are now so close to their unsuspecting prey that they can almost touch it and would be trampled underfoot if it stampeded. Still they wait, sensing for a moment when the bison is momentarily off guard, its head down.
A quick glance and the man to the left springs to his feet. He jumps atop the beast, thrusts his spear deep between its shoulders with a lightning thrust and jumps clear, using the rearing bison as a springboard. His companion attacks from the other side, thrusting into the animal’s rear. The prey roars and rears in agony, stamping blindly onto the first hunter, breaking his leg, and then goring him with its horns. He writhes in agony on the ground as the bison moves away, then totters and falls to the ground. The surviving hunter watches closely, keeping well clear of its flailing limbs, then, as it weakens, moves in for the kill.
The rest of the band soon arrives, but the first hunter has already died of his wounds. They swarm over the kill, deftly skinning it, then quickly dismembering the carcass and cutting the meat into strips to dry in the wind. A circle of hyenas watches from a distance, ready to move in when the butchers depart.
