All of this is real and important.

But underneath all of it is a person.

A man who lived and breathed and walked the earth eight thousand years ago.

Who grew up somewhere — perhaps beside the ocean, given the signature of his diet.

Who learned, as all children learn, from the adults around him.

Who was taught how to make tools, how to hunt and fish, how to navigate the landscapes he would spend his life moving through.

Who, at some point, was struck by a projectile — a spear or dart — that lodged in his hip.

Who lay in whatever passed for a sickbed in the world of eight thousand years ago, tended by whoever cared for him, while his body fought off infection and slowly, imperfectly, grew new bone around the intrusion.

Who recovered — not completely, not without pain, but sufficiently.

Who went on.