I am Lothar of the hill people. Much have I seen and much have I done. Join us, will you not? For I am Lothar of the hill people. Falador Tyler. Of what do you speak? We speak of many things. The hunt, fire, the weakness of women. Do not tell me that women are weak. For today my woman has cast me out from the hut. Mine as well. My woman also. She behaves as if I am unimportant. Yes, I am chief of all the hill people. But in my own heart I am deemed no better than foul humors discharged from the body. Ah, yes. I too have worn the brown helmet. It vexes me, you know. I will do battle with my woman and lose. I will do battle with my woman and win. Yet still I lose. And I’m supposed to feel great sorrow for her. I swear by Xena’s teeth, if I had her advantage on the field of war, I would be a god. To this I can relate. At dawn I leave the hut. My woman is happy in her toil. When I return from my daily gathering, I am tired and hungry. There is no food or fire because she has dragged out her ceremonial betrothal skins and spent the day weeping because they do not fit. And somehow all this is my fault. I tell you that ties are not in my pelt. And now her family has come to Comfort her. They have been with us since Nortis blew his icy breath. And I tell you, if her brother is not out of my hut by planting time, there will be a clubbing. My woman’s family dwells among us. For some time, my woman would not walk with me. Well, while they were in our hut, she felt her matriarch would not approve of her walking with a man. I told her that her mother must have walked freely with somebody at some time, or she would not be here for this conversation. My point was futile. It was like trying to tell the tree people not to eat monkey heads. There are days that I am so troubled that I swear I will never walk with a woman again, but keep only the company of men. I have a brother who made that pledge. Oh, do not be misled. The urge to walk with women is still there. There has never been any question of that. Yes, of course, yes. But my woman is so unpredictable. After the last Great Hunt, I stopped by the council fire. And the feast? Oh, I know it well. It was a good feast. That’ll be an informal one. I drank many flagons of mead, as is my custom, and invited my fellow warriors to the hut for a game of sticks and rocks. I sent my woman ahead to prepare for us, but when I arrive, I find my personal sacred Relics and amulets scattered outside the hut as the throne with great force. Above the door is the talisman of gibly, signifying death to all who cross it. Since then, I have been in the company of men. I have seen women behave like this. They frighten cattle. What gives women such power? We are the warriors! We are the chieftain! Yes! Who smote the tree people when they attacked with a force three times greater than our own? Women! No, men! And who wasn’t redirected the river’s zoral so the harvest would be more bountiful? Men! Who is it that can write their name in the snow without using their hand? Men! Well, that is a lesser point. But you are a man, and we will overlook it. Yes! Slack shall be cut for you, my friend. And who is better at creating a social and domestic order? One in which we can all create and be at our best? Again, that is a bad example. Oh, yeah! Let us sing a song to make us forget about women. Yes! Good. Yes! Let us sing the men song. You know the tune. Men, men, men! Men are bigger, men are stronger, men are better than women. Haha! I am filled with camaraderie. Let us sing another verse. Yes! Low, far, low, far. Uh, I can see by the position of the sun in the sky, and it’s time for us to go. Until then, I am low, far of The hill people