Post number 28 of 33 in The Ganymede Progression.

Gulping a breath, he approaches, treading on the outsides of his feet with eyes fixed on the prostrate shape. At two yards he crouches, and watches, watches, a full three minutes. Deciding the time is right, he walks forward, noisily now. Under his breath he gives thanks to the spirit of the creature and prays it reach the hunting grounds of its ancestors, before reaching out to retrieve the spear.

His hand is a foot away when the whiskers twitch. His arm snaps back, the beast’s claws tearing red lines in the skin of his forearm. “Aah!” he yells, grabbing the sharpened flint haft in his belt. The axe comes down on the creature’s throat, just once. A pool of dark liquid pools into the dead leaves, as he thanks the spirits of his fathers for the gift of foresight, of knowing, and of teaching him to dance with the deadly moments of this life..”

We haven’t always been taught to ignore our intuition, and it has got us a very long way. Perhaps it is time we learn to trust this old skill once more?