In no time at all, night fell over the plain. A heavy silence stretched between the tall grasses swaying in the wind. Oonak — or rather, Peter — slowly emerged from his cave, leaving his fur cloak behind. The night air was colder than expected, thick with the smell of fire and damp earth.
All around the great central fire, the tribe's members had gathered. They were feasting, laughing, sharing chunks of roasted meat and trading stories of their exploits. It was a peaceful moment. Peter, still gnawed by hunger, approached slowly, watching this scene from another time.
"Maybe I'll finally get something to eat," he muttered to himself.
The moment they saw him, they erupted in cries of greeting. Oudra, seated by the fire, waved him over. Peter had noticed that since his arrival, Oudra stayed quite close to him — no doubt one of Oonak's close companions. He walked over and sat down beside him. The warrior tore a piece of meat still sizzling over the flames.
"Here," he said, pressing it into Peter's hands.
It was the thigh of some beast Peter didn't recognize. Not grilled — charred. A wave of disgust passed through him. Him? Eat that? With no seasoning? Not even worth considering. But he couldn't hold out for long. With every bite, he felt like he was losing something. Maybe a piece of his humanity.
In the midst of this commotion, a massive man stood and approached Peter. This man — who seemed to be the head hunter — asked the shaman a question:
"May I tell them the news, my chief?"
Peter was lost. What news? When did we talk about this? It must have been with Oonak, he thought.
He wanted to ask what this was about, but that would only raise suspicion. So he nodded in approval.
The man turned to face the gathering and raised his voice:
"Did you hear? Tomorrow, we hunt!"
A murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd. Peter was deeply relieved. If it's only the hunt, why was I so worried? he wondered. After all the extreme situations I've endured...
Suddenly, the noise faded. Everyone's face was turned toward Peter. What do they want from me now?
"Chief, we want you to consult the ancestors. We absolutely must know if everything will go well tomorrow."
At these words, Peter felt a chill. He had completely forgotten that in addition to being the clan's chief, he was also the shaman. What could he possibly do in this situation? Summon the ancestors? That was a deeply contradictory thing for a man from his time. He began thinking harder than ever before.
"Okay. There's only one option left: I'm going to have to put on an act."
When he was younger, he'd watched movies where shamans did their thing. He cast a calm look over the entire assembly, then plunged his hand deep into the ground. He clenched his fists tightly, pulling up a handful of sand. He brought his hand to his mouth and began mumbling words whose meaning he didn't even know: "Abore tiseren tenga disen."
"Let's hope they don't understand this nonsense," he thought.
Then he brought his hands to his ears and began nodding his head. It looked as though someone was whispering into them. When he finished, he threw the handful of sand into the fire. For a brief moment — like an explosion — the flames roared higher. He turned to the men.
"The ancestors have spoken to me!" he thundered, raising his arms to the sky. "They tell me to inform you that tomorrow's hunt will be very fruitful."
The others' eyes lit up with wonder. Peter smirked to himself.
"Close call. I definitely deserve an Oscar for that performance."
Or so he thought.