Note: This is supposed to be written to "Bright Eyes" by Art Garfunkel. I just finished the Plains of Passage and am currently working my way through the Shelters of Stone, but it's been years since I read Clan of the Cave Bear, so please correct me if I got anything wrong and thanks in advance.
Author: Master Solo
Title: The Deeds of Durc
"Well, aren't you going to tell us a long story, Grev?" asked an impatient youngster as the old man sipped the steaming, brown tea that the woman of the hearth gave him.
For a moment, Grev wondered how he would up wrapped in a shaggy blanket as an honored guest of a strange, yellow-haired clan. Moreover, why was he telling this strange lot even stranger tales? He was supposed to be the heir to Broud's mantle of leadership. Ah yes, he remembered.
"Tell my tale to those who ask, the ill deeds along with the good, for the rest is…" Grev remembered his best friend's dying words once again, and then recalled the numerous life debts that he and Durc owed each other. Grev always did as his half-breed friend asked because he knew that the other would not hesitate to more than reciprocate the gesture. They looked as different as day and night, but they were like two born at the same time to the same mother.
Grev caught glimpses of his self-imposed exile, his futile contest with Brac. Then a very young version of the old man sat at Uba's hearth, entertaining the medicine woman's numerous brood of children with Durc. Long journey… matings… Durc promised to Ura and Grev's surprise with Ena. How ironic that while his friend was the child of Vorn's hearth, he had to be the one who'd pull off the same style of mating. Then death of mates and second matings. Then so much happened, so many strange things that their adventures seemed more like one of Creb's legends.
The cold wind stung the clan man bitterly as he watched the Mog'ur perform Durc's funeral. The next thing he knew, he was out in the cold, traveling alone, with only a walking stick to keep him company. Grev sighed. He still had to tell his friend's story from… he fumbled through his memories for the important details. He must've been getting old if he had to fumble like that.
He then remembered. He and Durc had always been best friends, but it really started when they left the cave. He vaguely remembered the scuffles he had with his brother over how Broud only showered that little Brac with attention and eventually deemed the boy heir to the clan, even though Grev had just as much right. Brac was just a proud child who liked to tease the overlooked brother and Grev's minor matter of jealousy over Broud's lack of affection for him was nothing compared to what Durc suffered.
Grev grimaced at the thought of his brother, but felt no pang of regret about leaving. Brac, no matter how cruel, was still his brother. He left for such a childish reason, but there was no regret. He merely wondered how Brac was doing and hoped that the rumors of the clan's demise at Broud's hands were false. Either way, Grev's home clan never showed up at any of the Clan gatherings. Back to Durc's story. I need to tell that first.
Broud had always been, in gentle terms, hoarse with the poor, motherless Durc. It reached a climax shortly after the half-breed's first kill, when Broud broke the taboo and struck his fellow hunter.
That's when Durc angrily stomped away from the cave that the Clan called home, muttering something about being promised to another like him, and when Grev, who was tired of being constantly teased and overlooked, followed after the young man. And so the man followed into the wilderness, into the beginning of the bizarre tale that he was obliged to tell this strange but beautiful clan that just took him in.