『Strength of the Tribe』のカバーアート

Strength of the Tribe

Strength of the Tribe

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Picture your ancestor. That person was never alone. Not for a single day of their life. They were born into a tribe, raised by a tribe, and they lived, worked, ate, hunted, and slept surrounded by the same faces from cradle to grave. Their band was small, somewhere around a few dozen to a hundred and fifty people, and every one of those people mattered to their survival. They hunted together. They shared every meal. They raised the children together. They sat around the fire at night, shoulder to shoulder, telling stories, laughing, grieving, belonging. Your ancestor did not have a loneliness problem, because being alone in that world was not sad. It was a death sentence. To be cast out of the tribe was to die.

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