We didn't have spears, though, we were too poor. We just had crooked sticks. Sometimes we'd throw rocks. Mostly, we had sticks.
We didn't have animal skin loin cloths and togas, either. Because, well, we had sticks.
What we did have was FIRE. Because we had sticks. And a way to make fire. We traded the sticks with the fire attached for warm clothing and raw meat. We were living well, without risking our lives in the procurement of necessities. Because we had sticks.
We didn't show the others how to keep the fire going. When their fires went out or their sticks turned to ashes, they came back to us, for more fire. Because we had sticks.
This time, the fire required double the pay. We demanded an entire mammoth this time, one that would feed us for weeks, and the skins on their own backs. We had sticks!
The hunter clan stepped forward and slaughtered everyone in my clan - everyone but me - with their spears. They took back their loin cloths, togas and meat. They forced me to show them how to keep the fire going, how to create fire from rubbing sticks together. Then...they killed me. Because I only had sticks.