The first time I remember the cave I was calling my sister. “Rose!”
“I’m here, Ish.”
“Where were you?”
“Don’t be bad-tempered.”
“I am not bad-tempered! … Rose, I’m scared.”
“Rose is here. She’ll look after you.”
That’s the way it had always been. Rose was there, and she looked after me, even when I was scared – or bad-tempered.
She seemed to lead me down through darkness for ever. Somebody hung on to my belt. My stomach hurt because we were only allowed to suck on dry knucklebones before going into the cave. I could hear other children crying, but Ish, the son of Hawk would not cry, not so long as I could feel Rose’s hand.
We stopped. There was a sigh as everyone knelt. Somebody’s knees cracked. Rose giggled, and someone said “Shh!” Rose put her arm around me, and I leaned into her warmth.
“Rose?”
“I’m here, Ish,” she said. “I won’t go away.” There was a silence when even the babies did not stir.
Flames cracked the dark. A red slash jagged the black curtain. Light split and bulged. The air rattled with the patter of animals’ feet trotting towards us. Closer. Louder. Galloping, rumbling, thundering hoofs. Rose trembled. I could neither turn away nor close my eyes. The air shook.
Suddenly the Stag Man grew out of the pitchy-black. High he swung his branchy head, and people moaned. I moved because Rose moved, swayed with her as everyone swayed.
Out of the darkness the other Animals towered, the ones we had names for, and the forgotten ones the sun had eaten. We hissed our terror as they shook claws, horns, tusks, teeth. The light shrunk to a red crack that closed and left us kneeling in darkness.
“Rose?”
“Shh!”
“But, Rose!”
“It’s all right, Ish. I’m here.”
And there was a dissonant howl, bellow, squeal, bray. I butted my head under Rose’s arm. Light exploded. The Animals danced across the wall of the cave. Plunge of horn, tusk’s flick, flat-eared snarl, talon, claw, antlered toss; they danced, leapt, and we danced and leapt, too. Yell. Howl. Bellow. Groan. The light vanished. The dark rushed in. The Animals disappeared, but I could still see them painted on the skin of my eyes. And silence again, silence and tiredness.
I found Rose by her voice and, weak with hunger, we stumbled up through the dark. The air smelled dusty. Greyness came and, suddenly, the sun’s dazzle. We put our hands over our eyes, pulled on wide hats, and ran screaming for the tents and the Feast of Thanksgiving. The Gods of the Cave had told us to set out on the Journey again. That was the first Animals’ Dance I remember.