Bushwhacking!

It's what my people do. The tribe gets too big, it's time to splinter off into smaller tribes. Where to go when all the prime real estate is taken up by splinter groups? Clear more land!

We are built for this. Powerful arms and shoulders, strong grips, sharp machetes and axes forged with the knowledge of generations. We come into this world naked, with nothing, but the world is rich with resources. The other animals have their skill sets. Beavers build dams. Prairie dogs dig tunnels, and snakes slither into them for lunch. Birds build nests. Who but the human animal has built roads, bridges, brick buildings, fortresses?

We slash our way through shrubberies and trees, weeds and bugs. We are bitten. Scratched. Beaten but not for long; we are not defeated.

Our group of twenty is several days away from the village, but we are resourceful. We build shelters from the branches and vines we've hacked. We've built a bridge. Next, we begin building the village.

I'm exhausted but fired up for the job of carting bricks to our clearing. Going back is so much quicker than the getting here was. Even pushing a cart full of bricks is so much easier than slashing my way through the thicket.

Day after day, brick by brick, we fill those carts and wheel them to the clearing.

Screams echo in the distance as I approach with another muscle-building load. I let go of the handles and run, run, run to the clearing.

A dozen men and women lie bleeding and motionless on the ground. Body parts are scattered. I sink to my knees, unable to make a sound, or a move in their direction. Who could have attacked--how could I have stopped this?

A twitching tail draws my eye to a platform, and there he is, the berserker, the killer. In broad daylight he sits like a king on our post. He has lost all fear of us.