He could tell they had more hair because their fur wraps covered mainly their torsos, leaving shoulders and arms bare despite the nearly freezing temperature. But their scantier covering didn't surprise him nearly as much as the fact that they wore clothing at all. No animals he'd ever seen wore clothes, and none ever carried weapons. Yet each one of these had a long wooden spear – obviously meant to be jabbed, not thrown, though the sharpened points looked wicked enough – and some carried heavy bone clubs, the forelegs of large grazing animals.

Their jaws aren't really like an animal's, Jondalar thought. They just come forward more, and their noses are just large noses. It's their heads. That's the real difference.

Rather than full high foreheads, like his and Thonolan's, their foreheads were low and sloped back above their heavy brow ridges to a large fullness at the rear. It seemed as though the tops of their heads, which he could easily see, had been flattened down and pushed back. When Jondalar stood up to his full six feet six inches, he towered over the biggest one by more than a foot. Even Thonolan's mere six feet made him seem a giant beside the one who was, apparently, their leader, but only in height.

Jondalar and his brother were both well-built men, but they felt scrawny beside the powerfully muscled flatheads. They had large barrel chests and thick, muscular arms and legs, both bowed somewhat in an outward curvature, but they walked as straight and comfortably upright as any man. The more he looked, the more they seemed like men, just not like any men he'd seen before.

For a long tense moment, no one moved. Thonolan crouched with his spear, ready to throw; Jondalar was standing, but with his spear firmly gripped so it could follow his brother's the next instant. The six flatheads surrounding them were as unmoving as stones, but Jondalar had no doubts about how quickly they could spring into action. It was an impasse, a stand-off, and Jondalar's mind raced trying to think of a way out of it.