The First Artist was a Woman with No Name

Hares in the Grass

The waist-high grass swayed and rustled as the pair made their way farther into the savannah. The moon provided enough light to make their way, but not enough for the Woman to be comfortable. Anything could be hiding in the grass. If the daily catch was any indication, it was hard enough to see what animals were there during the day. Now that it was dark, the Woman's mind wandered. She imagined lions prowling and stalking them. Enormous mammoths waiting for them to get close before gouging them with their tusks. And, of course, the antelope spirit, wherever it was, whatever form it chose to take.

Ngobi did his mind reading trick again because he reached back and grabbed the Woman's hand, although she wasn't certain if it was for her peace of mind or his. He had been slowing their pace, but then he suddenly stopped, pulling the Woman closer to his side. He cocked his head, ears alert for any sound. The Woman felt Ngobi squeeze her hand and she picked up the sound Ngobi must have heard earlier. If the quivering of the dry grass was any indication, whatever was coming toward them was big. They stood frozen in place as it made its way closer to them.

Ngobi grabbed his spear with his free hand and leveled it toward the grass when the ripple was almost upon them. But there was no need. Out from the base of the grass hopped two little hares, bounding after each other as if in a game of chase. The Woman watched them stop in the circle of matted grass she and Ngobi had accidentally made with their feet, sniff the air and look right at them, then bounce away again.

The Woman released a breath, but it got caught in her throat as the grass where the hares disappeared began to violently rustle. Dry stems snapped; light pattering of paws turned into stomping.

As suddenly as it began, silence.

"Hiya!" a voice pierced the silence. The Woman jumped high enough to clear the grass line. Ngobi screamed. A little girl's head popped out of the grass, followed by another girl's head below hers.

When they had a second to recover from the shock, the Woman recognized the little girls: Ganna and Bawa, from the cave all those months ago. They looked a little older. Still round in the faces, but a few inches taller. The Woman's mind strayed to their handprints and how their hands must be bigger now.

"What are you doing out here?" Ganna asked.

"Don't you know it's dangerous to be out after dark?" Bawa asked. Any hint of the shyness that previously plagued her was completely gone.

Ngobi and the Woman exchanged a look. They were being questioned about being out in the hunting land after dark when these girls, who couldn't be older than eight and six, were hiding in the grass alone.

Realization dawned on the Woman. They must have escaped somehow when the spirit took their tribe and decided to wait here until the tribe returned. Ngobi, however, had different thoughts.

"What are you doing out here?" was his clever retort. The girls' eyes narrowed and almost seemed to glow yellow in the moonlight. They ignored him and turned their reflective eyes on the Woman and giggled.

"Is this a little midnight rendezvous?" Ganna asked. The Woman stood there, mouth gaping, unsure if she should be scandalized by the implication or confused as to how this little girl knew so much about such a mature topic.

"Come on, Ganna," Bawa said. "Don't you know where we are? It's not just some flirtation, is it?" Something was different about the girls that the Woman couldn't place. They seemed older, wiser. Ngobi and the Woman shook their heads when Bawa stared at them expectantly.

"Oh, right!" Ganna said. She clapped her hands together, a quick fluttery motion. "We're right around the place of I'tepah's mortal death. He really wasn't happy about that."