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Three suns ago, your pack had crossed the open plain, following a herd of great woolly beasts north toward dryer grass. You had followed too, until the storm came with rain hard enough to blind and thunder that shook your bones. In the confusion, with everyone shouting and the smell of wet earth and fear thick in the air, you lost them.
You had searched until your feet bled through the wrappings of hide. Now, with dusk creeping over the valley, the river is all you have. It cuts silver through the land, wide and slow, its banks lined with patches of reeds taller than your shoulders.
Mammoth tracks press deep into the mud nearby, old enough not to worry you. Fresh deer droppings cross near the shallows. Good signs. Water means life, you remember your elders told you, and life means food.
You glance toward the darkening current as you drop your bundle of furs beside a flat stone. The air already starting to smell cold. If you don’t make fire before the sun vanishes, the chill would take you before dawn.
You gather dry grass and break branches from a dead tree. Thankfully, you carry embers wrapped in bark whenever you travel, but after unwrapping yours you find they had died in the storm. So you kneel in the dirt with a sigh and work from scratch.
Flint strikes pyrite. Once. Twice. By the third strike, a spark catches, and smoke curls upward. You bend low, breathing gently until the dry grass glows orange and finally bursts into flame. Relief loosens your shoulders as the warmth brings a vague sense of comfort.
The fire crackles warmly as darkness settles over the valley. Somewhere far away, wolves call to one another. You add thicker branches to your fire and wrap your furs tighter around yourself. Your pack would make camp tonight too, perhaps beyond the hills. Perhaps searching for you. Or perhaps believing something had already taken you. Your stomach twists at the thought.
A sudden ripple disturbs the water, instantly catching your attention. The river moves strangely near the reeds, as though no wind touched them. You rise slowly, gripping your spear tight. The fire snaps behind you as you step closer to the bank.
Nothing.
Only black water reflecting the first stars of the night. Still, the unsettling feeling of being watched remains. You scan the reeds again. The old hunters in your pack spoke often to beware of eyes hidden in darkness; big cats, cave hyenas, crocodiles farther south where the weather stayed warm. They could all kill you in seconds.
You were taught early to trust fear, because those who ignored it don’t usually get to tell the tale. Though your fear of what lingers in the water seems to be unjustified, as after several long moments, the river stills completely.
With one last lingering look, you back away and return to the fire. The warmth wraps around you as exhaustion finally takes over. You curl up beside the flames, tucking your knees close beneath heavy furs. Smoke drifts upward through the cold air, carrying sparks toward the night sky.
Above you, the stars spread endlessly across the vast darkness above you. You know their patterns, they help guide your pack through migrations. Your people see stories in their wake. They are important. You stare at them until your eyes close, wondering if your pack is looking up at them as well right now.
After a few hours, you wake up, having survived your first sleep. Your hand curls around your spear before you fully open your eyes. The fire has burned low, glowing red beneath ash. Cold air bites at your exposed face. For a moment you remain still, listening.
The valley breathes quietly around you; no sign of danger. You slowly push yourself upright, properly looking around before feeding some more wood to the dying embers. The flames rise again, casting a trembling light across the mud.
Uneasy, you get up and slowly circle your campsite. Still, the damp earth holds no fresh tracks except your own. The river whispers softly nearby. You exhale and tip your head back toward the stars. Without the sun, the sky seems impossibly large. You crouch near the fire and absently drag your fingertip through the dirt, drawing patterns into the earth with no real purpose.
Then, you are pulled out of your daze by a splash. You spin toward the river, spear clutched tightly and raised above your head. The reeds sway slightly in the wind. Your pulse hammers in your chest as you slowly approach the bank again, feet silent against damp mud. Moonlight paints the water with pale silver streaks.
You search carefully along the shoreline, but find nothing. Not a ripple. Not a sound. Only your reflection. You retreat once more to the safety of the fire. Sleep comes harder after that. Every sound seems sharper, alerting your senses. Every movement of water draws your attention. Still, exhaustion wins eventually.
Morning arrives cold and damp. You blink awake beneath your furs and sit up slowly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Mist drifts low across the river, turning the world soft and pale. You lay still for a moment longer, enjoying the quiet dawn, before something, once again, moves in the water.
You freeze. Not far from shore, half-hidden by the reeds, you see a figure watching you. Human, you notice. At least… almost. Slowly, carefully, you rise to your feet. The figure does not flee this time.
Long strands of dark, wet hair cling to a narrow face smoother than any you have seen among your people. It almost seems to shine as it reflects the sunlight breaking through the fog. Her eyes are large and fixed curiously upon you.
You carefully inch closer. She remains still in the shallows, water lapping quietly around her shoulders as she tilts her head slightly. You mirror the motion, barely noticing as you do. Her lips curve upward into a smile and something warm flickers unexpectedly through your chest. You can’t stop yourself smiling back.
Your gaze drifts lower. The water shifts around… not legs? A powerful tail moves beneath the surface, scaled like a fish, golden beneath the morning sun. Your breath catches sharply in your throat. Realization strikes you all at once. You remember the stories. The strange creatures in the river old hunters whispered about beside fires.
Then, you both startle form noises behind you. You turn instinctively toward the sound. Familiar voices echo across the valley as figures appear in the distance. Relief surges through you.
Your pack has found you.
You look back toward the river, finding the woman of the river gone. Only widening ripples remain upon the water; pitiful proof of the creature that enchanted you so. You never see her again, though not for lack of searching. Still, you keep this story alive, telling it again and again in front of the fire until you yourself are an elder.