He’d struggled to draw with it at first. But, the more hunts he drew and celebrations to the seasons he depicted the less he struggled.
Something didn’t seem right to him, though. He felt like the scene was missing something.
He was the fourth generation of his tribe’s illustrators, and even though it was an absolute honour, he did feel that he wanted to move on to a different medium of expression.
With a quick, furtive look over his shoulder. He saw that he was still alone. The men would be hunting and the women would be showing the children what plants could be eaten.
He returned to the cave wall and carefully scribbled the word ‘UGUL’ underneath the last beast captured.
It sounded majestic to his ears.
He was certain that such a way of expression would catch on. He even, with a giddy excitement in his stomach, anticipated that it would be a part of his tribe’s way of communication for many years to come.
Even after the graffiti was found and Pud the Younger/Elder was stoned bloody red raw out of the village he’d spent all his life in, he just knew that that word would last forever.