"We cannot trust the flat foreheads," said Obol, and the tall, broad-shouldered, burly and brown-skinned Neanderthal leader looked at his colleagues, his face grim. Obol was born and raised in Ochre Valley, located in what would eventually be known as Northeastern Africa. Obol hadn't lived to see thirty five winters without becoming ruthless. Among the Neanderthals, the strong survived and the weak died. There was simply no other way.
As leader of a Neanderthal tribe, Obol was used to dealing with a multitude of threats. After all, he was the one who led the hunt, never knowing when a hunt might prove to be his last. In this savage land, there were many predators, from dire wolves to sabretooth cats, giant snakes and flesh-eating, gigantic pigs known as Entelodonts. The mammoths and the mastodons were also quite dangerous, as were the woolly rhinos, short-faced bears and giant sloths. Humans, of course, were the worst predators of all...
Obol remembered the days when his father, Matok, fought against the humans who invaded their former home, in the distant Fadru, not far from the Great Sea. The Neanderthal tribesmen fought bravely, but the physically weaker but quick-witted humans outnumbered them. With sticks and stones, the humans descended upon the mighty horde of the Neanderthals, and slaughtered them. Obol fled that day, vowing revenge upon the humans.
The Neanderthal folk, a race of burly, muscular, bumpy-forehead humanoids, had been the undisputed masters of the planet Earth for two hundred thousand years. They fought against the land, the harsh winters, and the ferocious beasts. They endured the cataclysms, the mass extinctions, and the rise and fall of the megafauna. Now, a new threat had emerged, another breed of humanoid known simply as the humans. These slender, nearly hairless, smooth-headed humans were vicious, and had already slain too many of the Neanderthals.
Obol, leader of the marauding band known as the Prowlers, advocated against his people tolerating the presence of humans in their land. At present time, the human tribe numbered only a few dozen members, but their numbers were on the rise. Wherever humans went, life ceased. The humans hunted the animals with wild abandon, killing for pleasure rather than to feed themselves. They were a blight upon the land, and Obol wanted this threat eliminated.
"Ha, Obol, you're one to talk," said a female Hunter named Mala, and she pointed to Obol's mate Sela, who sat at the entrance of the cave, sewing a mammoth hide into a winter skin. Tall and dark-skinned, with a curvy body and a smooth face framed by long locks, Sela was definitely not a Neanderthal female. Sela was a human woman, from a dark-skinned tribe that had emerged seemingly out of nowhere. How Sela came to be Obol's mate was quite the story.
"Sela is not your concern, Mala," Obol said angrily, and Mala shrugged her shoulders, her eyes filled with defiance. Obol closed his eyes hard, remembering how the tribe had reacted when he'd brought Sela home. He'd gone hunting, and had been wounded fighting a pair of sabretooth cats. Obol, cornered by the fearsome beasts, was ready to make his last stand, armed with his spear. Sela came running, fleeing from a band of other dark-skinned humans. Apparently, the humans fought their own kind as well as the Neanderthals, and they showed mercy to no one...