For the past few days they wake to filtered light among the massive tree trunks. The silent giants stretch far into the forest’s shadows, to the limit of the human eye. The footing is easy here, where lack of sun holds the underbrush at bay. The thick bed of needles is a welcome retreat at the end of a long day’s walk.

The small band of travelers descends from generations of south-migrating ancestors. They gather their equipment in a morning that is temperate and still. In contrast to the inhabitants of the Midwest and Northeast—who struggle in a harsh and icy world—they walk where food is plentiful, as is material for tools, shelter, and clothing. Coming down from the Appalachians, the travelers enter a flat expanse of wetlands. Their world is largely defined by water, as the northern glaciers melt and the Mississippi and its tributaries claim mile after mile of floodplain. 

Those who continue south emerge on a savannah extending far into what is now the Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico. In waterside settlements, they perfect devices to trap fish and test the buoyancy of logs hollowed by burning. Those who turn west, into the interior, establish a woodland culture, thriving on an abundance of now-extinct bison as well as deer, bear, raccoon, and innumerable plants.

As small groups move through the region, they stop frequently in forest clearings or on the edge of marshes to manufacture items for daily existence. Almost from birth, they toughen their hands in this pursuit, fashioning hides, bone, stone, and sinew into the means of survival.