Page 60 of Caveman Alien's Bride

The shaman and two others bend down and help. When they get back up, one of them is holding a baby in his arms.

“The father,” Korr’ax whispers. “Tribesman Cabor’oz.”

The two others quickly check the new member of the tribe, and a tiny mewling cry is heard as the boy is wrapped in a fur.

The father carefully brings the surprisingly big baby over to us. “Chief Korr'ax, I want to introduce my son. His name is Bry’ox, if you’ll both allow it.”

“Oh,” Korr'ax says, for a change taken off guard. “That’s a great honor, Cabor’oz. I shall ask my wife. Bryar, tribesman Cabor’oz wants to name the boy after you. May he?” His voice is raspy, as if he’s moved by the gesture.

I know I am. “Of course, Cabor’oz! It be an honor!”

“Woman Bryar has brought good things to the Tretter tribe,” Cabor’oz says. “Now my son will have high standards for himself.”

Korr'ax puts two fingers on the baby’s forehead. “Bry’ox, you shall be a warrior of the Tretter tribe when you get your stripes. Before then, you are under the protection of the tribe and of me, Chief Korr’ax. May you be a worthy member of our tribe!”

Cabor’oz walks off towards his hut, followed by a few others.

I wipe a moved tear from my face. “The tribe is making me feel welcome.”

Korr’ax looks down on me. “You are welcome everywhere, I think. And now that your pump is finished and the Tretter tribe is going the right way, we must check on the Borok tribe as well. We leave at sunrise tomorrow. Tonight I think there will be a small celebration because of your pump.”

“And because of the new baby?”

Korr’ax taps his lips. “That would be unusual. But yes, why not? Little Bry’ox shall be the first baby whose arrival is celebrated by the Tretter tribe. Perhaps it will be the start of a new custom.”

- - -

Despite the celebration the night before, the whole tribe is there to see us off in the morning. We say our goodbyes, but nobody expects us to be gone for long. The way things are, Korr’ax is like a commuting chief who has to split his time between two tribes.

We start walking. It’s Korr’ax and I, as well as Breti’ax and Shaman Vram’az. Two Tretter warriors will escort us to about the midpoint.

The cavemen all carry a pack, while I have enough with my sword, my clothes, the makeup pouch, and the mirror for blinding. It’ll be a long walk, with one night spent at a campsite that we will set up. It will come in handy for later walks between the two tribes.

It’s a hot day, and the air in the jungle is stale and thick with decay and rot. Sap keeps dripping on us, and the men are tense.

“What is it?” I whisper to Korr’ax when we all stop for the fourth time in about half an hour.

“The jungle is quiet,” he mutters back.

I hadn’t noticed, but now that he mentions it, I get some of the same creepy feeling as that day in the jungle when I first met Korr’ax. That time, it meant that I would be attacked by a not-raptor.

We walk on, being quiet. I look for rays of sunlight that reach the ground from the dense canopy of leaves above us, planning my possible actions at every step. If a not-raptor comes fromthere, I will runthereand use that small ray of sunlight. If it comes fromthatdirection, I will gothere.

It’s tiring for my mind, but it also gives me something do to.

The attack comes just as we’re standing still again, listening.

But it’s not a dinosaur.

“Krast men!” Breti’ax yells.

Indeed it is men from the Krast tribe, their green stripes the same color as half of Korr'ax’s.

They run at us from two directions, swords bared and eyes wild. There’s no yelled challenge or war cry from them — they’re hereto kill.

The two Tretter warriors get between us and them, swords bared.

Korr'ax is by my side in the same instant, while the two other men take up defensive positions that even I can see will be hard to get through. It’s a triangle with me in the middle.

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