You Weren't Being Punished. You Were Waiting

They Stared At Each Other, Wanting Each Other, Drawn To Each Other, But Their Silent Shout Of Love Went Unheard In The Roar Of Misunderstanding, And The Clatter Of Culturally Ingrained Beliefs.

Art Was As Much In The Activity As In The Results. Works Of Art Were Not Just The Finished Product, But The Thought, The Action, The Process That Created Them.

She Loved Him, More Than She Could Ever Find Words For, But This Love He Felt For Her Was Not Quite The Same. It Wasn't So Much Stronger, As More Demanding, More Insistent. As Though He Feared He Would Lose That Which He Had Finally Won.

Science Fiction Is Not Just About The Future Of Space Ships Travelling To Other Planets, It Is Fiction Based On Science And I Am Using Science As My Basis For My Fiction, But It's The Science Of Prehistory - Palaeontology And Archaeology - Rather Than Astronomy Or Physics.

The Other Mammoths Were As Protective Of The Dying As They Were Of Newborns, And They Gathered Around Tying To Make The Fallen One Get Up. When All Was Over, They Buried The Dead Ancestor Under Piles Of Dirt, Grass, Leaves, Or Snow. Mammoths Were Even Known To Bury Other Dead Animals, Including Humans.