The demand for more eggs.

Grok's daydream about taming and breeding the Sabor Tooth Sphynx ended abruptly as a massive paw collided with his cheek, and a razor sharp talon dug deeply into his skin. The cat had grown restless and was searching frantically for another egg. Fortunately for Grok, his face wasn't one. He felt his new scar and thought, How wonderful! He knew that if he ever managed to find his tribe again, they would respect him this time. He truly was a hunter now. He had fought the wild elephant-skin-crocodile-tooth-cat, and lived to tell the tale.

Thinking of the tribe made Grok sad. He began to cry like a little cavebaby. They would be migrating right now, and if he didn't catch up soon, he might never see them again. And as the rock-sitter, it was his duty to make sure they were safe. He had to protect them from any dangers they might encounter. 

"HAACHOOOOOO!" Grok sneezed. Oh dung, he though. I'm allergic to hairless cats.

Without warning, the Sphynx Cat bolted away, bounding with long, graceful strides all the way to the farthest hill Grok could see. It ran straight to the top of the hill and over, out of sight for good. 

Where could it be going? Did it hear food over there? Had the hunters made a kill?! Suddenly everything made sense to Grok. If he could just get to the top of that hill, and quickly, he would know what to do from there. He had to keep his head on straight and be a good lookout for the tribe. He mustered up all the energy he still had, and began running wildly and clumsily to the hill.

As he ran, he yelled, "AAAWOOOOOOOOOOO!" because he had seen the hunters do that before, and wondered what it would feel like.

The End

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