Archive of Our Own ^beta

A father looks outside, watching the children play in the grass. The autumn air was crisp, but clear skies kept the worst of the chill at bay, and he could hear her laugh as she chased a butterfly. A weary, but content sigh escapes his lips, the sound of hard work paying off. After moving for so long, they had finally found a place to call home. The other families were preparing inside, it wouldn't be long until the children were called in.

As the sun lowered on the horizon, a shout from inside told him everything was ready, and so the man moved to collect the children, picking his own up in his arms. She squirmed and babbled, wanting to stay outside, but soothing words from her father stilled her frantic energy. It was dark now, the warm glow of the large fire in the centre the only light. All the families were gathered against a far wall, a large bowl being passed around. Filled to the brim with a rust colored paste, smelling of iron and clay, every member was taking their turn placing a hand against the stone wall. Another traced the hand in ochre, leaving a ruddy stain in the shape of a hand marking the pale stone. The father took his turn, left hand touching cool stone touched with condensation. His right held to support the weight of his child in his arms. When he finished, a large left hand was marked in red, three fingers and a thumb all in a row, the pattern broken in the middle. Turning fussy in his arms, the child motioned to be held higher. Smiling at her energy, the man lifted her high, placing her hand above his own mark. Traced in the same ruddy dye, a minuscule, pudgy hand was outlined.

The child then lunged at the bowl, grabbing a fistful of ochre. Still in her fathers arms, she smeared a trace on his cheek, shrieking with laughter as if it was all part of some grand plan. A chuckle escaped the man's lungs, and he felt a tear brimming as the smell of broth boiling filled the cave. The wall was full, the fire warm, and a shelter was finally made a home.