Mists of Dawn (40 page)

Mark
decided
to
let
well
enough
alone
for
the
present,
but
he
was
eager
to
establish
some
sort
of
understanding
with
the
man.
Savage
though
he
doubtless was,
he
could
be
a
valuable
ally.
After
some
reflection, Mark
realized
that
he
could
not
very
well
bury
his meat
and
then
simply
stay
in
the
area.
He
was
still too
close
to
the
Neanderthals
for
comfort,
and
he
did not
see
how
he
could
ever
make
his
way
back
to
the space-time
machine
without
being
seen.
He
was trapped
in
the
past,
and
the
sooner
he
accepted the
fact
and
planned
accordingly,
the
better
off
he would
be.

A
sudden,
cold
gust
of
wind
bent
back
the
grasses of
the
plains,
and
Mark
became
abruptly
aware
of
a sort
of
brooding
oppressiveness
in
the
air.
He
looked up,
and
saw
that
dark
clouds
had
drifted
overhead, unseen
in
the
excitement
of
the
stranger’s
appearance. The
sun
was
low
on
the
horizon,
and
Mark
moved closer
to
the
dying
fire.

The
wind
sighed
eerily
across
the
plains
that
only a
few
moments
ago
had
been
warm
and
sunlit.
It
was a
wind
that
chilled
Mark
to
the
marrow—not
the
gentle breeze
that
felt
so
fine
on
the
first
balmy
days
of
spring, but
the
icy,
bitter
wind
that
whipped
through
the cold
chasms
of
winter.
And
it
was
going
to
rain,
if it
did
not
indeed
turn
to
snow
before
it
fell.
In
an instant,
the
grassy
plains
that
had
seemed
so
pleasant were
stripped
down
to
their
essential
nakedness.
They were
raw
and
hard,
and
life
upon
them
was
no
laughing
matter.

But,
astoundingly,
the
stranger
laughed.
He
laughed softly
and
pointed
overhead
to
the
dark
and
ominous clouds.
His
meaning
was
clear
enough—they
were
in for
a
storm.
The
man
got
up
and
took
a
burning
torch from
the
fire.
Then
he
beckoned
toward
Mark
with
a gesture
that
was
unmistakable
and
started
off
across the
field
to
the
mountain
foothills
near
by.
Mark
did not
hesitate.
Leaving
the
reindeer
and
the
pool,
he followed
the
stranger’s
invitation
and
did
his
best
to keep
up
with
him.

The
man
set
a
rapid
pace
under
the
threatening skies,
but
Mark
stayed
by
his
side.
He
was
getting stronger
now,
and
he
knew
that
this
hard
dawn-world would
either
make
a
man
or
break
him.
There
wasn’t any
in-between.

Thunder
marched,
rumbling
heavily
across
the wind-swept
plains,
and
lightning
flickered
like
ghostly torches
on
the
other
side
of
the
world.
The
stranger looked
about
him
with
keen
eyes
until
finding
what
he sought—two
large
boulders
that
sat
end
to
end,
forming
a
solid
V
of
shelter.
He
then
found
two
poles
of dead
wood,
each
about
four
feet
long,
and
cut
notches in
them
with
a
stone
knife.
He
placed
the
poles
in the
ground
in
front
of
the
boulders,
and
laid
another pole
over
the
top
of
the
V.
Mark
understood
what he
was
doing
now,
and
helped
him
find
more
dead branches,
about
ten
feet
long,
which
they
placed lengthwise
from
the
crosspole
to
the
ground
behind the
boulders.
Then
they
gathered
grass
and
some
leafy shrubs
and
piled
them
on
top
of
the
frame
of
wood, 
following
this
with
more
wood
to
act
as
weights
against the
wind.