The boy, who led the way, reining in his muscles to match the old man's slow pace, also wore only one garment: a shabby piece of bearskin with frayed edges and a hole in the middle through which he inserted his head. He was no more than twelve years old. Conspicuously, he tucked a recently amputated pig's tail over one ear. In one hand, he carried a medium-sized bow and arrow. On his back, he carried a quiver full of arrows. A sheath slung around his neck by a thin strap revealed the weather-beaten handle of a hunting knife. The boy's skin was tanned from frequent sunburn, and he walked quietly with a catlike stride. In stark contrast to his dark skin, his eyes were blue, even dark blue, but alert and sharp as drills. They seemed to scan everything around him in a way that was typical of his. He also sniffed as he walked, his swollen, quivering nostrils sending endless messages from the outside world to his brain. His hearing was also keen, so well trained that it worked automatically. Without conscious effort, he heard all the faintest sounds amid the apparent quiet. He heard, distinguished, and categorized them all: the wind rustling the leaves, the buzzing of bees and mosquitoes, the distant roar of the sea, which only a quiet murmur reached him, or even the sound of a rodent underfoot pushing a handful of dirt towards the entrance of its burrow.
