Prehistoric Hippopotamus

The heat haze shimmering off the baked earth of the African soil distorts large shapes moving in the distance.

- Phil Hore

The ongoing drought had been driving herds and flocks into new regions in search of fodder and water. Even a part of the once large family of hominids that once populated the lake system had left months ago, following the hope of thunder booming over the horizon and the delectable scent of rain and fresh grass carried on the wind from these distant lands.

For those who remained, life had become harder and harder. Any plant or tree useful for cover and shade had been stripped bare by the numerous megaherbivores, and the dying and dead had brought in large numbers of predators. Getting a drink of water, always a dangerous act had now become almost suicidal as the exposed banks of the drying-out rivers and lakes had become a death trap. Yet you had to drink, and though the night was an obvious time to strike out, the poor eyesight of the hominids compared to those looking to feast on them left them at a distinct disadvantage. Far better was to drink when the sun had passed well overhead—midafternoon, the hottest part of the day when any sane animals were conserving energy by finding shelter and sleeping.

Running from the bare bones of the nearby tree line to a series of previously submerged rocks that now bordered the lake’s edge, five bipedal figures carefully picked their way toward the stagnant, insect infected water to drink.

Normally cautious, the heat and their unending thirst meant the hominids were not taking the care they normally would with such an endeavor, but there had been nothing moving through the heat for some time and the alpha hominid felt it was now or never.