Based around the archaeological discoveries found in a Belgium cave, The Dreamer IV – The Cave of Bones continues the eight-book prehistoric fiction series entitled Dreamer Books: An Ice Age Saga. It is a chronicle from the distant past, when the European continent was yet untamed, and humans fought to endure within a savage environment.
In this setting, a Neanderthal man named Tris narrates his story – often told in a manner that is thoughtful, and sometimes rather droll. His life’s journey is one filled with harrowing adventure and a relentless struggle to survive, but it is also a timeless, very human tale that tells of tested bonds of family and fellowship.
At the outset, Tris is a wide-eyed innocent who has lived a very sheltered existence. His most pressing concerns are presented by confrontations with wildlife and supporting the sustenance of the group. As time goes on and new tribes settle on lands once exclusively inhabited by the Neanderthal, he and his clan must adapt to a number of social changes and challenges. (After viewing the video, scroll down to see what happens next!)
Although I write about life as it was during the last Ice Age—a time when people had to procure all of life’s necessities from Nature, my childhood in small town New England was far easier. We didn’t have fancy stores, or even a “real” grocery store, but we did have Donald Doane’s.
Donald Doane’s was located in the heart of town. This store (shown in photos) is now called The Brewster Store, but back then it was Donald Doane’s, named for its proprietor. The shop carried all life’s essentials, along with a few delightful nonessentials, such as rubber-band-powered balsa wood airplane kits for just ten cents, jars filled with penny candy, and a selection of comic books.
While we occasionally stopped in for grocery items, every Sunday, Dad would fire up his truck—a 1954 International—and take one or more of us kids to Donald Doane’s to pick up the Sunday paper and a dozen donuts. This was one of my favorite weekly rituals.
The store had a warm and inviting atmosphere; a central wood stove served as a gathering spot for locals to enjoy a hot beverage and share stories. The wonderful aroma of freshly ground coffee and roasting peanuts often filled the air.
Mr. Doane, though somewhat taciturn and stern in appearance, had a softer side. If business was slow, he would invite us upstairs to marvel at his collection of antique toys, offering a fascinating glimpse into playthings from a century ago. It was nice to see this gentler aspect of a man who once replied to a tourist asking why he didn’t carry the New York Times with, “Because I don’t give a damn about what happens in New York!”
Mr. Doane is long gone now, but his store remains at the center of town. It likely carries the New York Times these days, but it still exudes a charm and sense of nostalgia that are hard to find elsewhere.
(Photo credits: E. A. Meigs. Brewster Store images posted with permission from the Brewster Store.)
I had never thought about recreating the voice of a Neanderthal man until I considered recording my books into an audio format. It then became apparent that I faced some challenges.
My books are written as a narrative and the main character is a man. As a woman, even if I had a really bad cold, I don’t think I could pass myself off as a male speaker. And….
The main character is a Neanderthal and there have been numerous opinions on the quality of their voices. So what did they sound like?
Can I use a software that will change my voice so I will sound something like a Neanderthal man? Hmmm…..
This has led to many hours of research. I’m not a scientist, but I have a lot of pertinent formal and informal study under my belt as part of writing a prehistoric book series. Like many, I was amused by the Neanderthal High-Pitched Voice hypothesis, which was based on the find of a single Neanderthal hyoid bone. (Spoofed here.) Later, it was discovered that the hyoid bone doesn’t really have as much effect on the quality of the voice as thought, but rather it is thevocal tract, oral/nasal/sinus/chest cavities that give us our unique sound. The Neanderthal had ample quantities of all these things, which leads me to believe that they had full voices – and could be quite loud, if they so chose.
To add perspective, think of dog breeds and their various barks; a Saint Bernard, which has a large head, muzzle, throat and chest has a different voice as compared to a relatively gracile Collie. That being said, as a hunting people, silence was more apt to be desired. I would have guessed them to be a quiet, soft-spoken people in most instances. I would therefore give my character a mid-range husky voice.
Recent genetic studies has brought up the differences between modern human’s speech genes and Neanderthal speech genes. We all have/had the FoxP2 gene, but the Neanderthal (and Denisovans) had genetic variances that are thought to affect the vocal tract. However, that doesn’t concern me very much. Humans have undergone a lot of changes – genetic and otherwise – over the millennia. I’ve read (although I couldn’t find a link to the exact quote) that the Neanderthal and early Homo sapiens were much more genetically similar to one another than early Homo sapiens would have been to today’s people. And, as one of the world’s most renowned Paleoanthropologists John Hawks says in his Feb. 2024 article,
"Today we have a lot more information about the variation of FOXP2 but little clarity about its possible importance. The protein coding sequence of FOXP2 differs slightly between chimpanzees and humans, but the protein sequence does have some variation across humans worldwide. In fact a fraction of people today have the same coding sequence found in Neandertals, showing that the gene itself worked very much the same in ancient and living groups."
(Fascinating article!) Considering that Neanderthal have other known gene discrepancies, like the one for red hair and light skin, it shouldn’t be a surprise when Neanderthal variations come to light.
Prof. Hawks’ article also addresses many aspects of the Neanderthal’s brain shape and supposed organization- we can only guess at how it was organized. Here, he says,
"Those shape differences that were so important to nineteenth-century anthropologists don't seem to make any difference to how brains work. With large studies in recent times, neuroscientists have a more detailed picture of variation of brain form. Variation in overall brain volume, cortical gray and white matter, and the relative sizes of some cortical regions all have been found to correlate with various cognitive or behavioral measures. But the variations of endocast and cranial shape once studied by anthropologists do not correlate with those internal measures of brain structure. Could Neandertal brains have worked just the same as today's people, despite their difference in shape? I think that whatever differences existed would have involved details of the internal structure of the brain, probably unmarked on the inner surface of the skull. One variable we can measure does relate to function within living human populations: brain size. In this measure, Neandertals and recent humans were more or less the same. The way the Neandertal brain worked may not have been exactly the same as ours, but I bet we will find they were not as different as many scientists once imagined."
This reinforces the idea – backed up by the evidence of their social behaviors such as care of their young, sick, and elderly, interring their dead, manufacturing of tools, 3-ply twisted twine, glues, distilling tars and oils, etc., etc., – that they were an intelligent, resourceful people who had sufficient physical and mental capacity to converse. And, it occurs to me that the Neanderthal brain shape was possibly due to its skull shape, which placed the brain in a position where it would be most protected behind the heavy brow. This would have been an important benefit for a people with an extremely active lifestyle, whose activities included a lot of close contact with very large and potentially very violent animals.
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I’m still experimenting, but this is what I’ve come up with (so far). See what you think of the voice as recorded in this video. It still needs work, but it’s a start.
My plan is to set up a Patreon page that will feature posts about the books, the characters, the Ice Age, and much more! This will include serial audio releases of each book, chapter by chapter, and discussions about them.
Title character Tris, with his father, Puh, and longtime friend, Black Wolf have arrived at the People from the East’s annual Gathering. Here, many traders have taken advantage of the event to hawk their wares. Black Wolf, as one of the People from the East, has brought his Neanderthal neighbors to this Gathering; it is a novel experience for the newcomers, who have lived in relative isolation. However, even Black Wolf is startled to see the offerings of one particular trader.
Black Wolf lifted one and held it out for our inspection.
"She has no feet," he pointed out. "She must have lost them in a sad misadventure like Fast Otter when he was attacked by a lion while sleeping in his lean-to. The lion managed to mangle Fast Otter's feet before his companions could save him."
The sculpted piece of sandstone was obviously meant to portrait a woman - a naked woman - but she was like no female I had ever seen. She was well endowed, both front and back, and decorated with many carved lines and zig-zags. And she was enormously fat, like a bear that had been feasting on salmon in preparation for winter's hibernation. The only woman I had ever known to carry any extra weight was Black Wolf's Little Fawn, but even she was positively svelte in comparison to this figure.
Puh responded incredulously to Black Wolf's remarks.
"You look at that physique and all you notice is that she has no feet?"
The moon had risen again, still round and bright, providing just the right ambiance for the wolves to sing by. Their distant howls rent the air and made the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand up. The wind had come around to blow out of the south, bringing with it a warm moist air, but it was from the wrong direction to provide any telltale odors that would give any indication that we were drawing nearer to our quarry. The gusting breezes shook the tree branches making it more difficult to distinguish sounds from one another. Still, there was nothing to do except to put one foot in front of the other and hope that we would not go from being the hunters to the hunted. We were grateful for the night’s deep shadows. Since we suspected we were quite close to Snow Leopard and his group, we evaded the moonlight, slipping from one puddle of darkness to the next. As we came to an open spot in the path, we paused for a drink of water and to rest for a moment. We had not spoken or eaten in some time. Puh broke out his nearly empty food bag and gave Black Wolf and me a little dried meat and a few shelled nuts that he found rolling around at the bottom of the sack. As I ate, I rubbed at my burning eyes; they ached from staring so hard at the darkness and from being awake for so long, but the salt from the sweat on my hands made my eyes burn even more.
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…I could clearly view the huge animal from my vantage point by a large tree. It was snuffling and snorting as it noisily grazed, its tail in constant motion, swishing back and forth in a fruitless attempt to keep the ever-present flies from alighting on its rump. Given that the audible signs of the rhino’s digestion process were clearly heard by all, I did not envy the flies their proximity to the creature’s hind end. Black Wolf seemed to be thinking along the same lines.
“Listen to that!” he quietly exclaimed at yet another burst of flatulence. “I will not be standing at the rear of our intended victim during this hunt! That rhino sounds as though he will be ready to let loose his bowels at any moment!”
We could not restrain small grins at the memory of last winter’s woolly mammoth kill, when poor Black Wolf had been knocked off his feet by a heavy blast of mammoth excrement. Just then, the rhino turned its head and faced in our direction, its enormous forehorn much in evidence.
“By all means, Black Wolf,” Bror whispered, “you are most welcome to the front if you so choose.”
I see myself more as a writer than an artist, so I’ve been pleasantly surprised by the interest in the illustrations in my books.
My journey began in childhood. I was eager to share the stories swirling in my head, but I didn’t know how to spell many words. This made things tricky for a budding author. To solve this, I told my stories through pictures and short captions.
As I grew, my writing improved until I could finally make a living from it. Unfortunately, that left me with little time for artwork. Now, as I try to rekindle my artistic side, I realize I’ve lost some of my practice! I hope to add more children’s books to my collection, which will give me plenty of chances to hone my skills again!
Here is a sampling, including a few of the frontispieces, pictures from the Ice Age Animal Index that appears at the back of each volume in the 8-book series, and several illustrations from thechildren’s book, KAW. (The Header image is also from KAW.)
PS: If you like Dreamer Book’s original artwork, you can find some of it on our Merch! See a selection of tees, hoodies, tote bags, mugs, and more HERE!
Illustration from KAW
Frontispiece from The Cave of Bones (colorized).
European cave lion (colorized, from Ice Age Animal Index)
Detail from The People of the Wolves frontispiece (colorized)
Reindeer (colorized, from Ice Age Animal Index)
Lynx (colorized, from Ice Age Animal Index)
Illustration from KAW
Roe deer (colorized, from Ice Age Animal Index)
Illustration from KAW
Eurasian wolf (colorized, from Ice Age Animal Index)
Woolly mammoth (colorized, from Ice Age Animal Index)
Interview with Seth Chagi (World of Paleoanthropology): Additional Commentary
My early childhood home was a traditional New England-style house, said to have been floated across Cape Cod Bay on barrels in 1750. It’s mind-boggling to imagine how challenging it must have been to keep a large, non-aerodynamic, and non-hydrodynamic two-story house on course as it made its way from Boston to Brewster. I’m sure the house was towed by a ship, but that’s still a lot of open water! If the wind picked up, they might have ended up in an entirely different town than where they had planned to reside.
Once they reached the shore, they likely used teams of horses and large wooden rollers to move the house to its final location, where it still stands today. Over the centuries, the house was expanded, and the property turned into a working farm. If only buildings could talk—the stories that house could tell! By the time my family lived there, it was no longer a farm, just an old, rambling home on a narrow country road. At various times, my grandparents, aunts, and uncles lived with us, making it a bright and lively place where we created many happy memories.
Back then, television reception on Cape Cod was practically non-existent, so we entertained ourselves the old-fashioned way—reading, doing crafts, playing music, and the like. I imagine my parents were relieved that none of us had access to bagpipes! Endless piano renditions of “I Love Coffee, I Love Tea” and “Mary Had a Little Lamb” on the violin were bad enough. (My sister eventually became a skilled violinist, even earning the position of second violinist with the Cape Cod Symphony.)
Some of my earliest memories are of walking through the woods with my father. He was an avid outdoorsman, and people often said that if they ever found themselves stranded on a deserted island, they’d choose him to be there with them. Walking through nature with Dad was never rushed. We’d stop and look at things, and he would explain what they were and what they could be used for. He taught me to observe, to listen, and to watch the sky and the animals around me. I also learned to see the outdoors as nature’s grocery store—if you knew where to look, you wouldn’t go hungry. These days, I find myself passing on these same lessons to my grandchildren.
Photo credit E. A. Meigs
I was an unusual child. Though I had friends, I often spent time alone, wandering the woodlands, marshes, and nearby beaches. I knew where several springs were hidden, offering a refreshing drink when I was thirsty. I built small huts from saplings and thick brush, weaving deadwood to form the walls. I also spent time gazing at nature, mentally taking notes that later inspired my writing. Even as a child, I wrote stories and illustrated them with my own drawings. My explorations often led me to collect treasures—rocks, pinecones, acorns, feathers, bugs, and other fun finds—that surprised my mother during laundry day.
When I was about nine or ten, I decided to build a makeshift tent using a tarp, bits of rope, clothespins, and sharpened sticks as stakes. I set it up across the stream from our house in a small clearing amid the trees. Over time, I gathered a decent camping kit, and eventually, I was given an old but sturdy canvas tent. It served me well until a family of mice took up residence during the winter, leaving my tent with much more “ventilation” than intended. By that point, I had saved enough from my afterschool job to buy a modern nylon tent. Little did I know, that small blue-and-yellow pup tent, along with my camping gear, would come in handy when I first set out on my own. When rentals were hard to find and/or too expensive, I occasionally lived in the woods.
I loved boondocking—that is, camping in the woods rather than in a campground. I’ve never liked campgrounds much, but I’d sometimes stay in them during the off-season. I was fortunate that we didn’t have dangerous wildlife like poisonous snakes or large predators, so I could enjoy nature without much worry. The worst I might encounter was a skunk. Now that I’ve worked for an employer like Fish and Wildlife and seen gruesomely graphic photographs and read the reports of the aftermath of grizzly bear attacks, etc., I am much more aware of the potential hazards. Some folks don’t seem to mind tent camping in bear country, but having seen half-eaten remains, I would only do it in a hard-sided RV. Motivated bears can get into almost anything, but at least an RV gives you a chance to start up the engine and drive away and thus oblige them to run for their dinner.
And that’s it for this entry. I’ll be adding more blogs to go with the Story of Us! podcast.
Be sure to check out World of Paleoanthropology for interviews, articles, book reviews, and much more! It is a veritable goldmine of paleoanthropological information!
To learn more about Dreamer Books: An Ice Age Saga check out these pages!
Dreamer Literary Productions is pleased to announce that The Dreamer VII ~ The Challenge Circle is now officially released, in Ebook, paperback, and hardcover formats!
The epic Ice Age adventure continues with this latest installment. Did you ever wonder what life was like for those who walked the Earth before us? Dreamer Books opens a literary portal to life during the last Glacial Maximum, what with all its challenges and drama, while simultaneously instilling an enduring sense of wonder at the resiliency and resourcefulness of our ancestors. The ongoing story celebrates the human spirit, and illustrates however much the settings may differ, people have little changed over the eons.
Seven years ago, my imagination opened a portal to an ancient landscape. Layers of time peeled away, and I was thrust into the consciousness of one who had lived in a time and place now lost to memory. This Neanderthal man and the epic adventures that make up his life’s story may be fictional, but as I write his experiences it feels as though I am recording actual history, rather than composing a literary work. Bringing to life the peoples and cultures of Ice Age Eurasia has enthralled and inspired me, and I can’t help but think I will miss being immersed in their world when the series is complete.
(Header image credits: book cover photo by Paula Kugerud Photography, Venus figurine pendant and lithics by Neanderthal Joe. Header photo and blog photo by E. A. Meigs)
Our scallop boat, referred to as a dragger, the Kathy Dick.
It’s 4AM and I’m standing on a dock. Harborside lights illuminate the crystal-clear water, where I can see small bait fish flit about, while a crab scuttles to hide in the shadows. At that moment, I am less interested in marine life than I am the depth of the water. I know we need at least a half-tide to make it over the creeping sandbars that continually infiltrate the channel. Many a morning was spent peering into the depths, awaiting the moment when we could depart.
My Dad was a commercial sea scallop fisherman. His boat was a thirty-foot long wooden dragger, built in 1931. She was a modest working vessel, with the well-worn, slightly dingy look that typified most fishing boats. A symphony of aromas accompanied her wherever she went: a pungent mixture of old fish, diesel exhaust, and paint. Her pilot house was outfitted with a compass, fathometer, VHF radio, and wind-up clock. Down below and forward, an old-fashioned cast iron stove, fold-down table/pantry, and a berth made for a cozy little cabin. A large coffee can served as the head (toilet) for anyone who did not wish to make their deposit over the gun’ale.
I accompanied Dad on these outings whenever possible. As a kid raised in a semi-famous “Sea Captain Town”, it was almost impossible to avoid at least some familiarity with the nautical world, but my childhood was well-steeped in it. And I was hooked from the start. I loved everything to do with boats and being on the water. Dad usually fished alone unless accompanied by a family member or friend, so when I was first invited to go out scalloping at age eight (after pleading to be allowed to go for some time), I was thrilled. The hours were long, but as a “day boat” that returned to harbor by nightfall, the trips were less onerous than those of bigger off-shore boats.
We left as soon as the tide permitted and I made bacon and eggs for our breakfast while we steamed to the grounds. The stove was probably intended to be fueled with wood, but as I recall, we most often used cans of ethanol gel for cooking. The stovetop had a clamp system called fiddles that kept pots and pans from suddenly levitating or taking flight across the cabin while we were underway. The fiddles also allowed the cook to use both hands when tending food, and sometimes, to brace against the carnival ride-like motion of the boat.
Painting the dragger’s bottom before the tide comes in!
Later, fortified by a hearty breakfast and still plunging along, we washed the dishes. The plates and silverware were washed in the shucking box, but most of our dinnerware had holes in it, so the skillet, ironstone coffee mugs, and spatula had a line run through the holes and after being tied-off, were thrown over the side to be scrubbed as we forged ahead to our destination. Following a period of being subjected to a saltwater-and-sand scouring, we hauled back on the rope and the sparkling-clean items were dried and stowed.
Sea scalloping involves towing a drag across the ocean floor in strategic areas. With luck, you will have found a few good scallop beds, and if you’re careful not to overfish them, you can alternate between these beds indefinitely. After the drag comes up, its contents are dumped onto the deck and the pile is culled for scallops, which are then shucked while the drag is returned to the water. This cycle of drag down/drag up goes on all day, but we must stop in time to steam back to the harbor to catch the evening tide.
Days worked on the water are unlike any day on land. It is almost as though you have been transported to another world. Time moves at its own speed, measured by the cadence of the waves, and the duration of each tow along the seafloor. On pleasant days, the breeze whispers softly in rigging and the moist salt air refreshes the skin. That said, there were many bitter cold days when the biting wind caused what we called “wind burn” and I envied my father his beard!
I was scalloping with Dad on a winter’s day when the snow began to fall fast and thick. The seas were relatively calm, but it was quite cold. As mentioned before, Dad had a full beard, and it was coated with frost, his mustache edged with icicles. The snow stuck to us as we worked, until we more closely resembled a pair of Yetis than a couple of humans. I may have been twelve or thirteen years old at the time, but I still vividly recall how thoroughly chilled I was, especially considering it was difficult to do that kind of work while wearing gloves. I knew Dad had to be cold as well.
“Dad,” I said, having had an epiphany, “Do you want a cup of hot chocolate?”
Dad and me (age 8), shucking scallops.
He answered with a decisive affirmative, so I was down below in a flash to boil water. These days, when I make hot chocolate, I cook it on the stovetop from individual ingredients. This was just instant cocoa, but the ironstone mugs made wonderful hand-warmers and it felt so luxurious to sip the piping-hot beverage as I thawed my fingers. There’s a great sense of camaraderie that comes from standing together on a gently heaving deck, listening to the engine labor as the boat leads the drag on yet another pass, silently enjoying a simple cup of cocoa. The drag would be hauled up shortly, but this few minutes’ respite was priceless as snow swirled around us; no one else was in sight – we were just two people on a little boat as it plowed across a vast expanse of green water.
Some part of me will always be a fisherman’s daughter: the kid who drew pictures of fishing boats in art class, while the other kids drew horses, cars, and houses; the kid who went to school with dried scallop guts and blood on my oil skins (raincoat).
I haven’t worked in the fishing industry for many years now, but it was an important part of my upbringing and it made my living for some decades. I am past the point in life where I would want to return to that occupation, but I still wax nostalgic on occasion for the smell of the ocean and freedom of riding the waves. I hope I have passed on this affinity to my children, who were exposed the ocean and boats literally from the time they were babies.
It was my fate that I should be drawn to two very different worlds: the call of the sea and the grounding effect of living a terrestrial life. And I harbor a deep and abiding love for both.
This plaque was mounted on a bulkhead in the dragger’s forward cabin.
Commercial fishing and working in boat yards has also influenced my writing, especially as it pertains to my current book series. Not only because I worked almost exclusively with men, but because of the insights gained from working with men who labored in one of the most physical and dangerous occupations known. Surely, our early ancestors would have shared at least some of their views on the pursuit of prey (whether fish, fowl, or mammal) and the risks involved with the less-than certain lifestyle, and empathized with the discomforts that come with exposure to the elements, no matter what form they may take. All such challenges are timeless.
My nephew wrote this about Dad: I can remember many times seeing him hanging upside down into the engine compartment battling with some rusty thing or other that wasn't cooperating, monkey climbing partway up the mast or rigging to untangle some unfortunate and uncooperative line that got tangled...
This hour-long podcast is well worth your time: Anthony Yokolano from The Neanderthal Mind digs deep into mankind’s ancient past in this interview with Neanderthal Joe. (What a nice surprise to hear my name and my books mentioned during the discussion! Thanks for the plugs, Anthony and Neanderthal Joe!)
The realm of Paleoanthropology is a relatively small one, therefore those of us immersed in this field often know one another, at least by name. I have followed many such experts over the decades, but it’s not often you find one who not only delves into the science, but also explores the practicalities and skills needed by early humans as they struggled to survive in a harsh world.
Mousterian blade on a centripetal core.
For the last ten years, Neanderthal Joe (AKA, Joe Lawlor) has made a study of the Neanderthal. During this time, Neanderthal Joe has put his knowledge to good use and taught himself how to knap stone, haft knapped stone to spears shafts and handles, made useable items from animal pelts and hides, created Venus figurines, made cordage, glues, distilled birch bark tar and oil, practiced several methods of making fire, and much, much more – all using authentic primitive tools and techniques. Neanderthal Joe’s works have found homes with collectors all over the world. Some of his lithics can be seen on display on display atthe Etta C. Ross Memorial Library Museum in Blue Earth, MN.
Neanderthal tools racloir, hand-axe, Levallois core. (Made from cobble of Georgetown flint by Neanderthal Joe.)
Mousterian blades, Joe’s replica (r) compared to an authentic Mousterian blade (l) made by a Neanderthal 60-70 thousand years ago.
Neanderthal Joe shares his passion for learning about our ancient ancestors with his followers. (A list of his platforms will be included at the end of this post.) You can watch some of his many YouTube videos (below), to get an idea of the scope of his work.
Video showcasing a Neanderthal tool kit.
Neanderthal Joe’s “Venus of Antler River”.
Spears made by Neanderthal Joe.
Venus figurine.
Again, these images and videos give just an inkling of Neanderthal Joe’s body of work and he is constantly adding to this impressive portfolio. If you are interested in ancient life skills and paleoanthropology, check out his platforms; he provides valuable insight into the lives of our ancestors.
It’s always gratifying to receive a reader review of my books, but especially so when the reviewer has Neanderthal Joe’s level of expertise on the Neanderthal and the details of their lives. A while ago, Neanderthal Joe very generously submitted a review of my first three books. (When I wrote to say thank you, I took the opportunity to ask his permission to do a blog about him and he kindly agreed!) I had to edit his review to fit into the Reader Review page format, so here it is, in it’s entirety.
As someone that struggles at keeping focus while reading, this series has been an absolute trip! I knew it was a great series when I finished the first book in 3 days (something that is rare for me); the entire time I was reading book one I was “on my toes” excited for the next page and the next chapter, the characters are very likeable and are very relatable. The story is captivating and keeps the reader drawn in, the story is not the typical point A to point B story it is a well thought out TRUE ice age adventure! When I come home from work instead of settling down and hopping on a game or mindlessly watching tv I now open a new chapter from the book anticipating where the adventures of Tris, Black Wolf and Tor goes. I am very excited to see where the wonderful author takes the series and will continue to read. Thank you for making a beautifully crafted story with elements from the real world. While reading you can picture the characters on their journey and that is better than any tv show or movie.
If a real world Neanderthal recommends this series that should be the sign that you should check it out from Neanderthal Joe!
The sun has not yet crested the horizon, but a young Neanderthal woman named Soosha has already begun her day. It is still dark when her infant’s whimper reaches her ears, signaling that his belly is empty and nappy, full. Soosha retrieves the baby and removes a scrap of hide used as a diaper. Seeing that the absorbent cattail fluff within the diaper is soiled, she shakes it over their fire pit. The dirty fluff falls onto the red coals of a dying fire, where it sends up an acrid plume of smoke.
The now squalling and impatient infant is cleansed and his nappy is repacked with clean fluff. He calms as he is nursed, despite that his mother is simultaneously prodding the fire where the cattail fluff, even in it’s somewhat dampened state, has begun to burn. Soosha carefully adds fuel to the flames to bring both light and warmth to their little home. When the baby has dozed off again, Soosha tenderly kisses his forehead and he is put back to bed. She then builds up the fire so their small earthen dwelling will be warm by the time the family arises from their slumber.
Now that it is autumn, the clan has settled into their winter lodgings. Their earthen homes are dug into a hillside and then shored-up with sections of tree trunks or large branches. It is a cozy, if dark and somewhat claustrophobic place to wait out the coming days of sub-freezing temperatures and fierce winds. Some of the clan stay here year-round: those who are not able to make long journeys as the rest follow game, setting up open-air homes at each site. The ones left behind are the most fragile of the clan, primarily the elderly and the injured. They keep animals at bay who might want to steal food stores, or invade the temporarily unoccupied homes. The use of fire and marking their borders with urine discourages most animals from venturing too close.
Throughout the warmer months, the rest of the clan occasionally stops in from their travels to drop off meat, hides, and animal by-products. This adds to what the permanent residents have been able to forage. The in-ground homes have the benefit of being cool in the summer, as well as warm in the winter. While the near-constant temperature of 50 to 55 degrees may be quite a bit warmer than outdoor winter temperatures, it can feel chilly during summer. Sometimes a low fire is maintained even on hot days to take the edge off the chill and for humidity control. After years-long occupation of this site, most of the easily scavenged wood has already been burned. Other than deadwood that sometimes falls from the trees, they must make short hikes to hew firewood with axes hafted with knapped-stone axe heads. In addition to keeping fire pits fueled, the chimney holes must be kept clear of obstructions, such as brush that might catch fire, or snow accumulation during and after each snowstorm.
Neanderthal mother and her children start their day. (Illustration: E. A. Meigs)
For now, all is quiet. Soosha is grateful the baby did not awaken his older siblings. She slips back into the nest of bedding she shares with her mate, Killek. She snuggles contentedly against him, placing an arm around his warm back, and she is soon fast asleep.
It will not be not long before they will start their day. Killek and his older brother Tonk are going hunting and they must be away as early as possible. When Soosha feels Killek rouse, she rises as well, and they both pull on various articles of clothing in the semi-darkness. They have a few lamps made from horns of a young aurochs, that they filled with fat and fitted with a twisted plant-fiber wick. The lamps are used sparingly to conserve precious fuel, but Soosha lights one now to illuminate the chamber as they prepare for the day’s activities.
While Killek ducks through the low, hide-covered doorway to retrieve an armload of wood, Soosha makes a simple breakfast of fresh berries and slivers of roast venison, leftover from their previous night’s meal. These foods are washed down with water, served in cups made from dried gourds. After breaking their fast, man and woman work together in companionable silence to collect the things Killek will need to carry, although today he will be traveling light. Ice Age winters meant bundling up in layers of clothing, but for now they can still venture out unencumbered by heavy animal skin coats, head coverings, mittens, and boots.
The hunters have been keeping an eye out for tree trunks sporting fresh scars from bucks that have been scraping them with their antlers. Such a place would be a good spot to ambush a buck, who generally returns each morning to see if does have visited in his absence. Soosha is relieved that this will be a relatively routine hunt. Any outing has the potential to be dangerous, but an encounter with a deer, even a buck during the rut, is no where near as perilous as an encounter with larger animals, such as aurochs, wisents, woolly rhinos, or worse still, woolly mammoths.
Woolly Rhino (Illustration credit: Dreamer Books: An Ice Age Saga, by E. A. Meigs)
Soosha, on the other hand, is small, but she is also strong. Her daily chores are numerous, and often they require much strenuous labor, albeit, not as extreme as her mate’s. The bones and muscle attachments on Neanderthal women’s arms were about equal, indicating that most Neanderthal men and women were specializing in different tasks. (For more on sexual dimorphism: Scroll to pg. 129)
After Killek leaves with his brother, the children awaken, one by one. The toddler is not yet fully weaned, and as mother and children settle by the fire, the tot climbs onto his mother’s lap to nurse. When all the children are fed, she adds fuel to the fire and, infant on her hip, she then slings their empty water bag over her shoulder. The family walks down to the stream, where Soosha places the baby in the arms of her six year old daughter, and bends to refill the bag in the rushing water.
As they stand at the stream, others from their clan also converge on the rivulet to replenish their water supply. Most of the clan consists of related individuals. They discuss plans to forage for various foods that day. It is vitally important to harvest and preserve as many foodstuffs as they can for the coming winter. Many of their chores involve working hides, processing plant fibers to make baskets or twine, or sewing clothing, footwear, sacks, and backpacks, but much of that will have to wait for the time when the last of autumn’s bounty has been collected. As the season grows colder and bad weather often keeps them housebound, that will be the time to create the many things each family uses in their day-to-day lives.
European Cave Lion (Illustration credit: Dreamer Books: An Ice Age Saga, by E. A. Meigs)
Hunts may take place year-round, but spring and fall are an especially active time due to seasonal migrations and the annual ruts. Spring hunts often take place on the faraway plains. Game is abundant there, but so too are large predators, such as the cave lion. The grasslands are a very dangerous place, not only because of threats posed by predators, but also because the prey animals themselves can be downright huge. If a serious injury is to occur, this is often where it happens. Fossilized remains of Neanderthal men show signs of a very rough life (scroll down to “Fractures“). Their injuries are compared to those of rodeo riders, and amputations were not unknown. Even smaller prey such as fallow deer or ibex still have the potential to gore or kick a hunter.
Fallow deer (Illustration credit: Dreamer Books: An Ice Age Saga, by E. A. Meigs)
While the clan goes about their day, Killek and Tonk march steadily through the forest. The air is absolutely still. There is no wind to whisper among the tree branches or rustle the leaf-littered trail. Despite their efforts to walk as quietly as possible, each step produces a slight but audible crunch. Tonk and Killek continue until they reach the place where the buck has left his marks. Bucks not only scrape their antlers on trees to rid themselves of the putrid shreds of velvet as it is slowly rotting off, but it is also a way of attracting does. Between the antler scrapes and scrapes the buck has dug into the ground, does can pick up their scent and then decide if this buck is a potential mate or not. Bucks renew their scrapes every day and stop to sniff at them, in hopes that they might include the aroma of a receptive doe. With luck, the hunters will be able to find this buck as it makes its daily rounds. However, if the buck picks up human scent, there is a chance he will not approach at all. The men could only conceal themselves in the nearby brush and hope for the best.
The sun rises higher. Killek and Tonk remain absolutely motionless. They have done this often enough over the years that they do not need to formulate a plan. They simply await their prey and assuming he appears, dart out from their hiding places and lance him behind his forelegs with their spears, where they might hit the heart and lungs. Birds and insects flit around them. Even squirrels come to scamper nearby as though the two men were just another part of the forest. At long last they hear the sounds of snapping twigs. Something is coming. The buck’s musky odor becomes more apparent as he closes in on them. He is a young fallow deer with a modest set of antlers, but he appears well-nourished. His tongue is out, as he tastes the air for the scent of does. A few bits of miscellaneous foliage decorate his antlers.
Roe deer (Illustration credit: Dreamer Books: An Ice Age Saga, by E. A. Meigs)
The buck pauses to freshen the rut where he has pawed the earth with his hoofs and then deposits a stream of urine into the shallow trench. There, he does a brief dance, splashing the muddy liquid onto his forelegs. Next, he steps up to the mark he has carved into the tree and sniffs, upper lip raised and pink tongue still protruding. The buck positions himself to enlarge the scrape on the tree and at that moment Killek saw Tonk lift one finger very slightly. This is the signal to strike.
After the buck is ambushed, has expired, and is gutted, he is carried back to their collection of earthen dwellings, where he is skinned and butchered. The buck is small in size, but nevertheless, clan members are pleased to see that the first hunt of the rutting season has been a success.
As the day winds down, the clan assembles around a central firepit to enjoy the fruits of their harvests in their evening sup. The meat and organs of the buck are consumed in their entirety during this hearty meal, and his antlers and bones will be repurposed into tools, his sinews into threads, his hide into clothing. Little goes to waste; in fact, every slain animal contributes many valuable resources to the clan’s welfare.
Afterwards, the group relaxes around the fire, enjoying conversation until it is time for the nightly story. Soosha’s mate Killek is a Keeper of Stories, a role he inherited from his father. Often he is asked to tell one of their traditional tales, one that has been retold for many generations. This evening he recounts a story of The People of the Wolves. When the fire has burned low and Killek’s tale is complete, the families bid one another good night. Soon, winter will be upon them and it will be too cold for these outdoor gatherings, but for now, they are an important part of the day. They reinforce the bonds between those in the clan and add a pleasant diversion to what is often a harsh existence.
Ibex (Illustration credit: Dreamer Books: An Ice Age Saga, by E. A. Meigs)
This blog is less a story and more of an informational piece (unlike my books, which are stories – although I make every attempt to make them as scientifically accurate as possible ). It contains some scientific data, but also considerable conjecture derived from many decades of reading scientific papers, books, and articles (and personal experience and formal study). Early humans left scant evidence to tell us about their lives, so we are left to speculate on tantalizing clues. Theories change frequently and some theories directly contradict each other, making it challenging to draw an accurate picture of life during prehistoric times. I strive to collect data from many sources and collate that which I feel is the most probable into a coherent hypothesis that includes not only paleoanthropology, but also zoology, climatology, and ancient survival tactics.
As you may have guessed, I have endowed my Neanderthal characters with the intelligence and skills needed to survive in an Eurasian Ice Age setting. I believe they would have needed winter shelters that can withstand extreme weather, and temporary open air shelters to be used when following game during warmer seasons. Also, they required a means of heating and lighting their homes throughout long winters, ample ability to hunt and forage a wide variety of foods and materials, and manufacture fitted (although perhaps not terribly stylish by our standards) clothing, footwear, and outerwear.
The Neanderthal endured through some of the most inhospitable conditions mankind has ever faced for over 200,000 years(longer, if you include the proto-Neanderthal). Out of necessity, they would have been master outdoorsmen and owned comprehensive knowledge on how to leverage every resource to its utmost advantage. I eagerly await each new discovery as science continues to explore historical clues left by our early human ancestors, and bring more of their legacy to light.
Dreamer Books: An Ice Age Saga brings to life an era that is well known for its megafauna and brutal climate, and peopled it with those who must wrest a livelihood from a fierce wilderness. Their harrowing adventures help to strengthen families and forge powerful friendships. Then, as now, it is survival and the preservation and continuation of our clans that drives us.
So, you might ask, how does one start writing a historical fiction book series? Where does one gain knowledge and insight sufficient to breathe life into an ancient world, a world whose inhabitants have long-since perished? Speaking for myself, it has been a lengthy and convoluted –but never boring– journey!
The writing bug bit early. It wasn’t a dainty nibble, but rather a hearty chomp. As my childhood years flew by, I filled notebook after notebook. After landing my first job, the earnings went toward the purchase of a cheap manual typewriter. There was no gentle tippity-tappity to get a legible font; this machine required the kind of vigorous finger-strokes needed to play Rachmaninoff’s 3rd Piano Concerto. Nevertheless, I pounded out my first full-length (and very silly) 300+ page novel at the age of ten.
Discovering the World of Natural History
My working career began (outside of working with my Dad on his commercial fishing boat) at the Cape Cod Museum of Natural History. It was my great good fortune to be employed there for four years. I worked with noted naturalists such as John Hay, Robert Finch, Robert Prescott, and Donald Schall. My title was “Girl Friday“, which meant that I did whatever was needed at the moment. I swept floors, tended various resident animals on the grounds (such as a one-winged Great Horned Owl), assisted with field work, or shelved returned books in their library. I had a strong interest in science and natural history, and luckily for me, the museum staff were more than willing to share their knowledge.
(Credit: E. A. Meigs)
Learning More About the Outdoors
I had lots of woodlands, marshes, and beaches to explore. A little creek ran past our house and a foot bridge (um…well…a plank) gave us access to a verdant glen hidden amongst the trees. There, I would erect a tent from whatever materials I could find, in which I spent the night whenever the weather (and my parents) allowed. I use the term “tent” loosely. It was a drop-cloth strung up between trees with an old carpet underneath. It was scarcely weatherproof, and certainly not bug-proof. But that was no concern to me; all I cared was that I could stay outside. Later, I was gifted an old canvas tent that appeared to have been last used during World War II. It was a bit musty, but I was very glad to have it; it was a vast improvement over my improvised shelters.
I have always enjoyed camping. As a young adult, whenever I was in-between rentals I would just camp in the forest until my next lease started. It could be chilly at times, but thankfully, my father had brought me up to be comfortable in the woods. Living out of a backpack never posed a problem.
(Image Credit: E. A. Meigs
Boats, Boatyards, and Commercial Fishing
I aspired to be a naturalist, like those I knew at the Museum. But however appealing the study of nature, I didn’t think I could make a living at it. After graduation, I went on to have a nautical career. As the daughter of a commercial fisherman/backyard boatbuilder, for me, this was a obvious choice, but it sometimes presented a bit of a puzzlement to others. Feminism was in its infancy in those days, making me somewhat of a curiosity. I was often the only woman onboard, or at the work site. I didn’t try to be one of the guys or compete with them. In fact, although I was very strong for a five-foot tall female (they sometimes called me Mighty-Mite), I knew I could not match their size and strength.
I was grateful not to be asked, for example, to load a battered 55 gallon drum onto the back of a truck. My burly co-worker gamely stepped up to the drum and embraced it as a wrestler would his opponent. Following a breathless struggle, he finally placed the dented and rusted receptacle on the truck’s bed while the owner of the drum looked on, nodding with satisfaction. It was only after the task was completed when it was revealed that the drum was filled with chunks of lead. Another time, I saw one of the guys pick up two two-hundred pound mushroom moorings by the shank, and walk away with them as though they were a pair of suitcases.
(Image Credit: E. A. Meigs)
Working in a Man’s World
I had already amassed more than a decade of pertinent experience when I started working in boatyards. But as low man on the totem pole, I was assigned some of the worst jobs. When they needed someone to crawl around in a tight bilge, up into a forepeak, or down a cramped lazarette, as the smallest, I was the one tapped. If you think they were giving me crappy jobs because I was female, rest assured my male contemporaries were given assignments equally as bad.
One boatyard’s sail loft was located up a very old and creaky flight of stairs, and the loft’s doorway was a mere 5 feet high and just over a foot wide. Guess who got to retrieve all the sails? While I fit through the doorway just fine, the sail bags were usually a lot larger than the door’s opening, so shoving them through was quite a process. Once I managed to accomplish this, there was nothing to stop the sail bags from tumbling down the rickety stairs, thundering and shaking the stairway as they went, looking like an enraged elephant seal charging down a steep beach.
On the job: sanding brightwork, under the supervision of my old dog, Sugar.
All in all, I enjoyed laboring alongside my coworkers. Over the years maybe one or two of the guys were somewhat hostile, but most were quite pleasant. People not acquainted with commercial fishermen and boatyard workers might think them a bit rough around the edges, but I generally found them to be pretty easy to get along with. They were salt of the earth folks; they may not have been “pinkies up” kind of guys, but they were funny and caring, and I considered them to be friends.
Marriage
I married while still in my early twenties and gave birth to two daughters. I was a content to be a wife and mother, and I thoroughly enjoyed my children and all the things that came with domestic life. We lived on a small homestead complete with goats, chickens, honey bees, and large gardens. After the marriage broke up, I was forced to support my household and return to the work I knew…and paid the bills. So, it was back to working on boats.
Starting a New Chapter
By the time I was nearing 40 years old, the heavy toil was taking a toll on my physique. So, I began to look for alternate means to make a living. I was excited to find a job managing a shipping department; oh joy, to be clean and warm and dry! But I soon discovered that 95% of the shipped product was cut slate – ROCKS! So much for light work! But at least the boxes of rocks were marginally lighter than the loads I routinely carried in the fishing industry. That said, I still needed to segue to a career that didn’t potentially include a hernia.
On the job: Fish & Wildlife (Image credit: E. A. Meigs)
Fish & Wildlife and Forestry
As time went on, I found employment in a small field office for Fish and Wildlife. As with the staff at the Museum of Natural History, the wildlife biologists were generous with their knowledge. In addition to my usual duties logging check station data from the hunts, handling Management Area purchase orders for everything from copy paper to heavy equipment, and other mundane tasks, I also occasionally accompanied biologists on controlled burns and field work.
I spent a year as a resident employee at a State Park, as well; another wonderful experience! My dog Sam and I hiked the trails every day, often waking up the deer as we trekked along at sunrise. Most animals are not keen about people – and dogs, even less so, but I reveled in the fleeting glimpses of these creatures.
Daily hike with Sam. (Credit: E. A. Meigs)
Early one morning, Sam and I spied a black furry butt sticking out of the brush up ahead. We stopped in our tracks. I said to Sam, “Well, that’s either a bear or a hog.” At that, the animal backed out of the foliage. It was still a distance away, but I could see by its ears that it was a wild hog. A large one. Hogs usually run away, but this one stood his ground. I have seen what wild hogs can do to a dog (and humans, for that matter) so Sam and I changed direction. While I enjoy seeing wildlife, I realize it is important to give them lots of space. I have no doubt there were countless times when Sam and I were in close proximity to animals we never saw, because they had the good sense to move off without giving themselves away.
(Credit: E. A. Meigs)
Becoming a writer.
Eventually, I found work writing and editing. Also, I put in a few years as managing editor for an academic journal. I learned a lot about the publishing business, how books are laid-out, and I was finally able to use my love of words in my profession.
It had always been my goal to find a way to combine my love of nature/writing/history, but I never planned to write a book series chronicling the adventures of a Neanderthal man.
I later recounted this information to a friend. After a brief pause during which she looked me up and down, she said, “Was there a picture of you in that article?” No, but there may as well have been. More recent discoveries have found that they had a wider variety of hair, eye, and skin coloring, and some were in fact a bit taller, but from that time on, I must admit I felt an affinity for the Neanderthal.
Illustration from The Dreamer III ~ The People of the Wolves (Image credit: E. A. Meigs)
The Dreamer Book Series
Fast-forward a number of years to a February morning in 2015, when I woke up with The Dreamer in my head. Like all my novels, I had no idea where the plot came from, it just suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Initially, I didn’t know it would be a series. As the writing progressed, I soon realized the story needed to broken up into multiple volumes. So, onward I forged, pulling Tris’s story out of my brain one tap of the keyboard at a time.
Making Use of a Lifetime’s Experiences
Finally, much of the “useless” historical, zoological, anthropological, wilderness survival, etc., data gathering dust in my head can be utilized! Some of the plots take place around actual historical events and locations, so I did my best to seek out as much information as can be found on these topics. And, of course, I did general research all the time.
Additionally, every now and then I squeeze in an online University course. As ever, I remain hungry to learn more. Not only because of my burning quest for knowledge, but because I want to provide enough layers of depth and realism to make the tales seem plausible for the reader. We may never know what life was really like during the last Ice Age, but it is my hope to offer a literary portal to that perilous – and yet magnificent – juncture in time.
Just before dawn on a cold spring morning, a young Neanderthal man awakens from a strange and frightening dream that will change his life forever…
Dreamer Books 1 -5. Book 6, The Dreamer VI ~ The Outsiders is due to be released in the summer of 2021. (Header & graphics by E. A. Meigs, cover photos by Paula Krugerud.)
As the owner of a website and a number of social media pages, I have had the pleasure of (virtually) meeting a lot of people. I enjoy talking with these folks, even if we don’t always agree. Polite discourse can be mentally stimulating and educational. Theories come and go. Ideas once considered to be rock-solid may be disproved. There are many things we will never know about early humans, but it’s always fun to speculate about those who tread this earth before us. It was during one of these recent conversations when a link to popular site was sent to me, by way of backing up his argument. If the page had been thoroughly researched and up-to-date (its sole citation was a paper from the 1860s), that would have been fine, but sadly, despite its popularity, it was a very poor source of information.
I have a systematic way to identify and assess research materials. I was fortunate to have held a managing editor position for an academic journal. It taught me about the academic publication process, which was quite a different experience as compared with the general media. This was a peer-reviewed journal that only published a small percentage of its submissions. Papers were carefully considered for their academic merit and whether or not the subject was current (or had an angle worth revisiting), but another important aspect was the references. How old were the papers that were cited? Were they published in a reputable source? You see, in the “publish or perish” academic world, a lot of papers are submitted to journals, leaving the staff to sift through for content that is both fresh and insightful.
Nowadays I devote many hours to research for my books; over a thousand hours per year, in fact. I read everything I can find on the subjects of anthropology, osteoarchaeology, paleoanthropology, natural history, geology, ancient survival skills, and more. I assess my sources in the same way I assessed submissions. Is it current information? Are the references recent/credible? As mentioned in the video included on this blog, many of best resources are academic in nature. Not just published papers, but there are many wonderfully informative websites such as:
On the flip-side, there are also many popular websites – some associated with well-known entities – that may contain odd bits of misinformation. The field of paleoanthropology grows by leaps and bounds (especially during the last few years), so it requires a certain determination to stay on top of the constant influx of discoveries and new theories.
While one can forgive writers of fiction for using creative license as long as it is identified as fiction, it is unfortunate that entertainment articles are often put forth as serious science. You don’t have to be writing a paper or book to benefit from perusing the best resources, but I do think it’s important to consider the quality of the materials that will help you formulate your own ideas. Not that I mean to say you should shun any article that isn’t strictly scientific; there are many “fluff” pieces that contain good information, but you should go into it knowing it for what it is. If the article is entertaining and contains a few nuggets of real info, that’s great!
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In the future I will be writing another blog about my non-academic research. After all, there are many facets of history that are not covered by science, alone. There is much to be known about primitive life that is best learned from those who practice those ancient skills!
Venus figurines have been discovered throughout much of Eurasia, most dating between 11,000 to 40,000 BCE*. These saucy ladies have been the subject of much study and conjecture. Were they fertility symbols? Some sort of Mother Earth/Mother Nature goddesses? Or were they merely meant to depict womanhood in full flower (so to speak); a visual testimony to the artist’s admiration for the female form in all her glory? We can only guess, but it is fun to speculate on the motive(s) and mindset(s) of their creators.
Eurasian Cave Lion (Illustration credit: Dreamer Books: An Ice Age Saga, by E. A. Meigs)
The Eurasian Cave Lion(Panthera spelaea) is known to us mostly through its fossilized skeletal remains and the exquisitely detailed imagery left behind by early humans on cave walls. The fossils tell a tale of a large predator, somewhat bigger than today’s African lions. They may have been as much as 11 and a half feet in length from their nose to the tip of their tail, and reached weights of up to 880 pounds. Male cave lions are depicted without manes in cave art. Some of the ancient paintings seem to show faint striping on parts of the cave lion’s body.
These impressive animals are included in several of the Dreamer Book Series: An Ice Age Saga novels; as they surely would have been well known to Ice Age humans and been a source of awe and -at least occasionally- terror, to those who encountered them. This versatile and fearsome hunter was known to inhabit most of Eurasia and the very northwestern parts of the North American continent.
In 2015 two cave lion cubs were discovered where they had been buried in a landslide in Siberia, and were preserved in permafrost for tens of thousands of years. The approximately two week old kittens were were an astounding find and have done much to contribute to our understanding of these animals. A well-preserved third cub, about six to eight weeks old at time of death, was also found in permafrost in 2017. Lastly, a fourth cub was located in 2018. It was found near the 2017 cub; close enough to make scientists think that it might have been a sibling. There is speculation that future digs might reveal the existence of more siblings, or possibly even the remains of the cubs’ mother.
The most recent Eurasian cave lion remains have been dated to about 14,000 years *BCE. They are believed to have gone extinct by 10,000 years *BCE.
*BCE = Before Common Era.
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The Dreamer: Just before dawn on a cold spring morning, a young Neanderthal man awakens from a strange and frightening dream that will change his life forever…
