The hunters came back to the cave at dusk, and one of them went to the fire that was kept going constantly in front of the opening. He took a dry branch and held it in the fire until the end caught. Then he held it up. "If we take this, we can hunt in the dark," he said. "And when it is nearly eaten by the fire, we can take another branch and start it again. That way we do not need the moon."
"That way we can hunt until we are tired," said the other.
"That way we can kill twice as much game," said the first.
"There is so much game in the cave now," a young woman said, "that it is beginning to smell."
The older hunter glanced at her apprehensively; she made him feel foolish, always finding fault with his plans. "Perhaps so," he said. "But at other times we starve."
"Besides," she said, "if you take the fire with you to see where you are going and to see the game, the game will see you."
The hunters looked at one another and shrugged. The woman went into the cave and returned with an earthenware pot. There were pieces of raw meat and some water in it and she put it on the fire, propping it in position with three stones. The second hunter looked at the pot curiously. He was a younger brother from the other side of the valley, where he lived with his mates. He pointed at the pot and looked inquiringly at the older brother.
"She made it out of mud," the older brother said.
"Why doesn't it fall apart with the water in it?"
"I put it into the fire first, for a long time," the young woman said. "A very big fire. The mud gets red—and then it gets hard so it won't melt when the water is in it."