I’m thrilled to have Jacqui Murray here today to celebrate Savage Land Book 1, Endangered Species release, and share her upcoming release Savage Land Book 2, Badlands! I’m a huge fan of her prehistoric fiction and read Endangered Species story in two sittings. Here’s the link to the review of Endangered Species: LINK
Savage Land is the third prehistoric man trilogy in the series, Man. Vs. Nature. Written in the spirit of Jean Auel, Savage Land explores how two bands of humans survived one of the worst natural disasters in Earth’s history, when volcanic eruptions darkened the sky, massive tsunamis crossed the ocean in crushing waves, and raging fires burned the land. Each tribe starring in the story considered themselves apex predators. Neither was. That crown belonged to Nature and she was intent on washing the blight of man from her face.
What Was a Neanderthal Family Like
Neanderthal families by all accounts were small, close-knit groups of ten-twenty members and others related to them. Couples were monogamous, but sex between other tribes resulting in children was not frowned upon. The tribes understood that babies from related tribe members often didn’t thrive which meant they wanted outside seed to keep their groups strong. The tribe cared for children, not just the parents, and children grew up quickly to become contributing members of the group. Though Neanderthals lasted a long time in history and survived harsh natural conditions, their overall size was only about 100,000, spread throughout Eurasia. Finding more of their kind to reproduce with could be daunting! When females mated with a male on a permanent basis, she left her birth tribe and joined his.
Neanderthal women very likely hunted small game such as tortoise, rabbits, and birds–probably accompanied by babies and children. Because their body sizes were similar to men–somewhat smaller and less muscular but not significantly–they could hunt bigger game but how often they did doesn’t preserve well over time for us to tell.
Tribe members did not specialize in jobs though each might be seen as more skilled in a particular job than others (like making spears or hide clothing). All tribe members were expected to become accomplished in all tribe jobs. The reason for this–again–is obvious. The tribe size was small and their lives dangerous. It made sense if a hunter was killed, others could step in to do his tasks with no problems. The average life expectance was between 30-40 years though there are good examples of those who lived longer.
Again because tribes were small and life dangerous, Neanderthals became skilled at treating illnesses and injuries. There is much evidence that they cared for injured and sick tribe members for extended periods of time–decades, even–in a compassionate and caring way.
Childhood was much like what we experience today in that children learned through play, performed tasks according to their skill and maturity. There weren’t vast numbers of children around for youngsters to interact with so they were likely to grow up faster than today’s children with less supervision.
There isn’t a lot of evidence of burial rites, but death was treated respectfully, with an understanding that dead bodies can carry diseases. There is some evidence that loved family members were buried with flowers, even favorite tools, but not enough to draw conclusions.
In Endangered Species, Book One of the trilogy, Yu’ung’s Neanderthal tribe must align with Fierce’s Tall Ones—a Homo sapiens tribe–on a cross-continent journey that starts in the Siberian Mountains. The goal: a new homeland far from the devastation caused by the worst volcanic eruption ever experienced by Man. How they collaborate despite their instinctive distrust could end the journey before it starts or forge new relationships that will serve both well in the future.
Excerpt:
Chapter 1 of Endangered Species
75,000 years ago,
What we call Germany today
Jun was lost. Again. He gripped his thick-shafted spear in one hand, throwing stones in the other, and brushed aside the prickle of fear that flooded his body.
It wasn’t being alone that worried him. This was his first time hunting with the clan. He’d wanted to do well.
Initially, Jun had kept pace with the hunters, his strides long and easy, eyes firmly locked on the back of the male in front of him, but—as too often happened—he became distracted by a bird’s call and wandered off to find it, maybe talk to it. Someone shouted his name, far away and so muted, he barely heard it. He didn’t respond, of course. Upright voices would frighten the bird if it hadn’t already fled. He hunkered into the underbrush, reduced his breathing, and squatted there long … longer … but the bird fell silent.
I’ll look for it next time I’m out here.
He stood. Feet spread, ears perked, he twisted around, and to his horror, didn’t recognize where he was. Nor did he hear the sounds of his fellow hunters moving along Deer’s trail.
I wandered farther than I intended, and hurried away, through the leaves and dirt, hoping to find Deer’s trace or his clan’s prints, but found neither so he shouted. The sound echoed harshly through the trees.
No response.
They can’t be far. By now, they must know I’m not with them.
He hugged his arms around his chest, suddenly cold, and tilted his head up. Sun had moved, a lot. Instead of worrying him, it comforted him.
I’ll stay here until they return.
He crouched, picked at the forest’s hearty overgrowth, ate a few worms, and waited. No one came. He called several times, but all he heard were insects, a snake slithering, and squirrels chattering.
I’ll go where Deer is.
He knew where the herd headed because he’d followed it several times to where it ate the fresh young grasses, safe, it thought, from prying eyes. He trotted down what he hoped would end up their trail, searching for trace, listening for the rustle of hide-covered bodies passing through dense brush carrying carcasses. Finally, later than expected, he found Deer’s path, but they didn’t stop in their usual place. They must have known they were being stalked—the hunters were noisy—and trotted into a scree pile as though knowing that would conceal prints, which it did. Jun could either keep wandering until he re-located the clan’s path or make his way back to the camp.
He checked Sun, but it was now hidden by clouds.
He crouched, comfortable in his waiting. No one would be surprised. He often returned late with tales of an excursion rather than armloads of meat to feed the clan. The group would have ejected him, forcing him to make his way alone, but his mother was the clan healer and wouldn’t allow it. She was training him to take over when her stiff joints and failing eyesight meant she could no longer fulfill her duties. He had no interest in illnesses, but understood he must fulfill some duty or lose the tribe’s protection. As a result, he assisted her if he couldn’t avoid it and learned enough about herbs and mulches and poultices to be tolerated.
None of which helped him now.
I can’t wait, and scrambled up a hillock, found a landmark he knew, and headed toward it along a debris-laden forest floor, head up, eyes shut to concentrate on a panoply of delightful odors. He heard the hiss but as background noise to his meandering daydreams. By the time it stiffened his hackles and his eyes popped open, it was too late.
Snake!
Jun stabbed with his spear, to frighten not kill, but missed. Snake didn’t. A blur of movement and pain seared through Jun’s body. He collapsed with a thud and Snake slithered away. Jun attempted to stand and crumpled.
I’ll crawl along the path. The hunters will see me on their way back. Sweat broke out across his forehead. As will predators.
He scuttled into the dirt-clotted root ball of a towering tree, sharing the cozy space with worms, slugs, and spiders.
I’ll call out if I hear someone.
He tamped down the pain and dug through his shoulder sack. No surprise, he forgot to restock his treatments. He tried to blink the dust from his eyes and then rubbed, using the cleanest part of a grubby finger. He mulled over what to do as his ankle swelled bigger than his calf and heat flushed through his body. Everything around him spun and his eyes drooped. The more he strained to think, the more his head throbbed. He tucked his legs against his chest and imagined Snake’s poison infecting his insides.
How do I stop it before it stops me?
He solved it by passing out.
The scrape of a foot awoke Jun. Every part of his body hurt, but he managed to crack one eye. An Upright female not his kind strode toward him, a spear in one hand and a blistering frown on her face. He should say something, but his mouth was too dry.
She acts like she knows me.
He tried to rise, but no part of his body cooperated so he stared at her, worried and somewhat disturbed by the dark fury she directed at him.
Why is she so angry? I’ve done nothing to her.
Seeing his swollen red ankle did nothing to soften her attitude. Disgust washed over her in waves and her fists clenched a rough-hewn lance so tightly, the whites of her knuckles gleamed.
There is something familiar about her….
She had the small skull, long limbs, and narrow torso of a Primitive, lacking the musculature common to Jun’s kind. And it hit him.
“Xhosa?”
She growled in response, a sound so like hatred, he would have pulled back if the tree trunk didn’t stop him.
The female Xhosa visited his dreams often and they got along well. They discussed topics no one shared his interest in—where the herds went during their migrations, why Spider’s thin silken strands were so strong, why Sun left if Moon arrived. Did one orb fear the other or had they arranged to share the sky in this way? These types of curious queries annoyed everyone in his tribe, but excited Xhosa.
“Why are you here? I only see you in dreams.” He squiggled, attempted to stand, and collapsed. “Am I dreaming?”
“No, Shanadar. You have forced me to come in person. Night is approaching. It is not safe to be out here alone. Return to your homebase. I have plans for you and being eaten by Cat isn’t one of them.”
Her lips didn’t move nor were her words the clan’s, but he understood what she said. He wanted to ask why she cared if the night stalkers ate him, but what he said was something else entirely.
“Snake poisoned me.”
Shock flashed through her eyes and she scowled. “I see. You won’t be leaving on schedule.”
His head spun, started to ask what schedule, but stopped himself. Whatever the answer no longer mattered.
“Xhosa. Snake killed me. Well, there are treatments for Snake’s venom, but I didn’t bring them. Mother has them, but I can’t get to her fast enough. And the hunters—I don’t know what happened to them. They should have come by now….”
His voice trailed off. Talking exhausted him. Still, he owed her one more explanation. “Whatever your plan, it can no longer include me.”
She dismissed him with a flip of her fingers. “You’re not going to die, Shanadar. Come. My kith can take care of you.”
“Shanadar,” he mumbled. “She keeps calling me Shanadar.” She didn’t explain why and he didn’t ask. Or mind.
But he did ask about kith as Xhosa yanked him to his feet—foot, the injured one dangling uselessly above the ground—encircled her arm around his waist and draped his around her shoulder before replying.
“You call your group a clan. Ours is kith. The Tall Ones are a band, the Canis Pack.”
Tall Ones? He tried to make sense of her answer, but the words got lost in his muddy thoughts.
I’ll ask later.
They slid through the forest, well beyond his clan’s area and Deer’s favorite eating spots, past a tree tall enough to touch Sun. He’d never seen it before. Did it just grow? Soon, they reached a gathering of Primitives the size of Jun’s clan crouched by an overhang. All had low foreheads, prominent brow ridges, and body shapes like a shorter version of the tall slender strangers who occasionally passed through the clan’s territory—
That’s who she called Tall Ones!
The kith members wore long wraps or capes like Xhosa’s, unsewn, as though they simply cut a hole in a pelt big enough for their head to push through. No capes or wraps, and foot coverings were fur or bark strapped to feet.
But the dark, deep eyes, fixed on the new arrival, shone with intelligence. They blinked a greeting before resuming their work.
“They expected us?”
“No. They have adjusted to strangers trailing in here with me.”
Jun’s eyes popped open. “Other Uprights?”
She chuckled, the first smile he’d seen from her since she showed up. “Usually pawed and tailed.”
He had no idea what to ask about that and didn’t bother trying. Ignoring the growing ache in his leg took all his energy. She has much to explain, but it will wait until I recover.
Xhosa pushed him gently toward a boulder. “Crouch there.”
He collapsed. His good leg was numb. Even if she hadn’t told him to rest, he couldn’t have gone farther. The relief to his pounding ankle was overwhelming. He stilled his entire body, his breathing shallow as another Primitive approached, holding supplies eerily similar to those Jun’s mother carried. Then, before he could blink, she cut across Snake’s puncture and squeezed. He started to scream, but stopped because he felt nothing. The poison dried up and Xhosa scrubbed the puncture. Once she deemed it clean, she applied moss to suck out new impurities, as his mother would. All Xhosa’s ministrations were like his mother’s except Xhosa’s didn’t hurt. Mother’s always did.
Xhosa rotated back on her heels with a grunt of either satisfaction or hopelessness. Jun was too hot, tired, and sick to care.
She stood. “I will deposit you where I found you. You will awake groggy, feeling unwell, but you will be fine.”
When I awake? What does she mean?
“I am—”
But Xhosa wasn’t listening.
Endangered Species trailer: https://youtu.be/AxBlmays3vE?si=1SMtqDJiLYCRZvB6
Endangered Species—Print, digital, audio available: http://a-fwd.com/asin=B0DJ9Y7PQ8
The second Book of the Series releases on April 15th and is available to preorder!
In Badlands, Book Two, the tribes must split up, each independently crossing what Nature has turned into a wasteland. They struggle against starvation, thirst, and desperate enemies more feral than human. If they quit or worse, lose, they will never reunite with their groups or escape the most deadly natural disaster ever faced by our kind.
Join me in this three-book fictional exploration of Neanderthals. Be ready for a world nothing like what you thought it would be, filled with clever minds, brilliant acts, and innovative solutions to potentially life-ending problems, all based on real events. At the end of this trilogy, you’ll be proud to call Neanderthals family.
Badlands—digital on presale now: http://a-fwd.com/asin=B0DFCV5YFT
Author bio:
Jacqui Murray is the author of the popular prehistoric fiction saga, Man vs. Nature which explores seminal events in man’s evolution one trilogy at a time. She is also author of the Rowe-Delamagente thrillers and Building a Midshipman , the story of her daughter’s journey from high school to United States Naval Academy. Her non-fiction includes 100+ books on tech into education, reviews as an Amazon Vine Voice and a freelance journalist on tech ed topics.
Social Media contacts:
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Jacqui-Murray/e/B002E78CQQ/
Blog: https://worddreams.wordpress.com
Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/askatechteacher
X: http://twitter.com/worddreams
Website: https://jacquimurray.net
(Photo Credit: Vermont State Police)
Character Facts
My photograph of a building with chimneys in the UK
LINK
Hi! I’m thrilled to be a part of Staci Troilo’s 
Ingredients
Instructions
Recipe Notes
Staci Troilo grew up in Western Pennsylvania writing stories and poetry in her free time, so it was no surprise that she studied writing in college. After receiving creative and professional writing degrees from Carnegie Mellon University, she went on to get her Master’s Degree in Professional Writing, and she worked in corporate communications until she had her children. When they had grown, she went on to become a writing professor, and now she is a freelance writer and editor.
Bio:
Jacquie Biggar is a USA Today bestselling author of romance who loves to write about tough, alpha males and strong, contemporary women willing to show their men that true power comes from love. She lives on Vancouver Island with her husband and loves to hear from readers all over the world!
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When it was time to go back, I turned the hike into a walking mediation to fully appreciate the beauty and peace that surrounded us. I felt stress and worries stripped away from me.
Satin & Cinders
THE CLOCK
I did a survey a couple years ago on my blog:
Here is a poem from the “Just Her Poetry” which I hope to release in a few months. This is a runner-up for being used in “The Button”:
