Her curved skull reaches farther back than his more compact bone helmet (but intelligence, we now amend our theory, is not necessarily related to brain size, and we – we aver – are more intelligent than the elephant or beluga though I’ve never mastered savannah hoot or undersea call). Certainly her slouch of back tells us she is Neanderthal. Note how her humerus and radius reach towards his forearm that seems to grab her, something sprightly in his knees as if doing a jig around her seated there in bone relief on the dirt. He seems to plead straighter backed, leaning forward as if to make a reasonable point. And having broken into the ritual dark or firelit pathway of her cave, willfully or by accident, before or after her kind were threatened– she lacking protection and a mate – the hollow gaze of eye socket locked on eye socket tells a story though the doors to those houses have been open to the wind these 40,000 years. The way each faces each, brachial bones outstretched to take or embrace (or were they placed by some other for meaning or its irony?) Whether or not there was a transgression, suffice it to say, there was a marriage of blood – we carry her mitochondrial line on our mother’s side, from diabetes to pale skin diseases, red hair and green eyes to sensitivity to the light, dislike for the bitterer vegetables, the fussier blood types A and B. She might have danced to his wishes and acquiesced, impressed by his upright stature or fought, cursed him for her own he-man Neanderthal slouched and bleeding into the dirt, but something we cannot now deny is random quantum influence (mixed, enriched? or sometime incompatible?) on a battlefield of bullying genes.