Deep under the earth, the tap-tap-tapping of his mallet was the only sound. He crouched there in the gloom, scarcely able to see the pattern he was chipping in the stone. It had to be done right or the Gods would be angry, the hunt would fail. The people would go hungry, and it would be his fault.Behind him, Ee-La placed another fragment of wood on the fire. Hers was the equally important task of tending the sacred flames, making the scant supply of fuel last until his work was done. Too little flame, and he could not see. Too much, and the light would not last.His eyes ached as he followed the lines. The charcoal strokes lay dark across the gray rock, This line was for the stream. There the prey would come to drink. This line, the wind. It must not carry the hunter's scent ahead. A heavier line, rising and falling. The land that upheld hunter and hunted alike. This row of dots, the footsteps of the hunter. That one, larger and more solid, the hunted.Now the rows of dots came together. They were wrapped in their big towels -- just as they'd been, three weekends ago when I'd first seen them out there. The weather was more reliably hot now. A little breeze would have been welcomed, but my ladies were troopers. They were preparing to take a little sun!I had my bar chair -- tall and comfortable. I had arranged icy refreshments at arm's length, and even had parked my binoculars on the coffee table. I was still debating whether using the binoculars would be crossing the line. But I'd withhold judgment until I saw how badly I wanted to cross some lines.I had thought of everything. I was even dressed for the occasion -- in oversized shorts and no underwear. I had room to grow as a man.Molly and Sarah puttered around, setting up their chairs and spreading extra towels on them. They were still firmly wrapped in their respective beach towels. I waited for the unveiling.Molly removed her towel and I drank in her lovely, coppery skin tone, crowned by her flaming red hair. She.
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