Man's earliest age. Immense forests, marshes, steppes without end, cover Europe and Asia. The harsh law of nature reigns over the living, men and beasts: "Kill to survive"
A bouquet of trees stands in the high grass of the plain. It is twilight. The smoke of a fire rises to the darkened sky. The last sunbeams descend, caressing the blood-colored clouds.

Timour should be back already.
I saw the top of a bush move, over there.

Timour! Timour! Did you bring us something to eat?
Take it easy, children, easy, my brothers.

Finally! There you are! It's nearly night... and the night is bad for a man alone...
Timour's arm is strong, Father, and Timour doesn't fear the night.
But the pursuit of this beast took me farther than I had expected... game is getting scarce, Father.
Yes, we should soon look for another hunting ground. Winter is coming, and it is necessary to eat.

Licked by the flames, the flesh of the beast wafts its luscious odor around the camp. Darkness regains the world. Only the trembling gleam of the fire represents fragile shelter, protection against the beasts and the thousand mysterious dangers of the night.
Suddenly, a puff of wind comes from the bottom of the steppe, bending the quivering grass...
Father! ... The scent of man!