It is mid-term here in sunny Ireland, and my wee lad decided it was time for another Palaeo Diet hunt. He's only eight, so we kept it simple, but it was great to be able to game with him.
The hunters knew that if they could bring down just one of the shaggy behemoths it would provide enough meant and skins to see the tribe comfortably through the rest of the season. However, they were not alone. There was an old wolves' den in the valley and it was unclear how many occupants it currently housed.
As Ogg and Frygga skulked down the side of the hill into the valley, Rarr ambled off down the far slope of the hill - away from the mammoths.
Tark grumbled to himself something about hoping Rarr had a plan, but was then distracted by movement in the opening of the wolf den. He knocked one of his carefully worked arrows on the bow string, pulled back, and let the arrow fly. It soared like a falcon through the air, before clattering ineffectively to the ground near the cave opening. A clear miss, but whatever beast had stood there before, had run off, seeking shelter deeper in the den.
Ogg and Frygga identified their target and moved into position around the rear-most mammoth in the herd. Frygga decided the other beasts were too close and lobbed a stone at the next mammoth along. It looked up, startled from its contemplative grazing, and plodded off in the opposite direction. There was still no sign of Rarr, but to Ogg it looked like everything was going well.
Then Rarr tripped on a tussock of grass and started howling in frustration. The mammoth nearest to him took fright and trumpeted its own startled call in response. While Frygga looked on unimpressed, Ogg legged it out of the way.
Tark scuttled down the hill, hoping to lend a hand, but then Frygga stepped on a twig. The alarmed mammoths spun around to see where the sound came from; they both saw Tark, and charged at him. Only his wits saved him as ears flapped and tusks and trunks waved wildly about his head.
At that moment, Ogg came back to his senses. He skulked forward and threw a spear. Not at the mammoth that he had previously identified, but at the beast furthest from it's mates. The spear flew true and wounded the beast.
The scent of blood drew a wolf back out to the opening of the den, while the wounded mammoth turned and charged at Ogg, skimming his solid head with a tusk and filling the air with the smell of more blood. The wolf came closer.
Tark loosed another arrow at the wolf but again missed his mark. This time, the wolf lept forward with a fed-up-but-hungry expression and its teeth bared.
There was still no sign of Rarr except his clumsy cries each time he tripped or stubbed his toes. Ogg was bleeding profusely from his head wound, and the rest of the tribe were getting anxious.
The wounded mammoth bellowed in pain and this time both Ogg and Frygga scarpered - in different directions. Ogg dropped into position to ambush the mammoth, while Frygga started to get into position to drive the giant grazer towards her wounded companion.
And then Rarr sprang forward from the head of the valley. The wolf abandoned Tark who was proving too hard a lunch, and launched itself directly into Rarr's back-swing. Furious fur met struck flint with a dull thunk, and the wolf slid to a halt, as inanimate as the rug it would soon become.
Encouraged by Rarr's sudden appearance - and no less by his bravado (luck?), Frygga threw one of her spears which lodged in the flank of the already wounded mammoth. The beast lashed out and its tuck passed within a finger's width of Frygga's own flank.
And then came Rarr, exhilarated by his recent kill and now howling like a rabbid wolf himself. Once more he raised his axe, and once more it came down to meet its mark. The flint blade embedded itself in the newly formed cavity between the mammoth's eyes, and the mighty beast crumpled to the valley floor.
The tribe would eat, and the new mammoth skin would be used to fix the two shelters, damaged during recent storms. And to top it all off, Rarr had a new wolf-skin rug.