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As he sat down in the booth, he let out a quiet, almost apologetic sigh. Corporate got him in for an anachronistic interview because they apparently found it intriguing that he was a lone wanderer - they were rare back then, it was far safer to stay in a tribe. As for my own willingness, well, I thought he was visually quite offputting - he was remarkably scrawny for a cave dweller, I'd estimate around 1.7m and skinny enough to be admitted to a hospital with no questions. He had messy orange fur to rival the most beloved of shag carpets, and worryingly bloodshot green eyes that made me a little nervous at first. He picked at his teeth with a pinky as he sat across from me, exposing a distinct cracked double snaggletooth to the back of his jaw, and his posture seemed slouched, almost like he wasn't used to having company, which I'd soon come to learn was somewhat true.

Putting the recorder on the table and slotting in a blank minidisc, he sat up a little, watching. It hurt me a little to see his dirty clothing scrape on the clean chair, but I remained composed. I didn't want fired because a rancid cave fox made me uncomfortable. He rubbed his eyes a bit, focusing on the table as we began.

"So. Welcome to BackTalk, the radio segment that's not just making history, but getting its opinion. I'm Terry Vallance, pleasure to meet you. You are?"

He gave me a brief moment of eye contact, registering his situation, taking me in.

"Llwynog."

Isn't that just the Welsh word for...never mind. Don't be a dick about it, Vallance.

"Alright, Llwynog. And you're here representing the stone age, correct?" This question only elicited a nod from the fox.

"Lovely."

There was an unwillingness still emanating from him, which I thought I had to dissipate fast. I had to get him to speak, but I wasn't sure how. This called for operative small-talk.

"So, tell me about yourself. You're a lone traveller, correct? That's rare for your time."

"I guess."

"What posessed you to take on that lifestyle? Surely a tribe would be safer?"

"I don't have a tribe anymore."

"Oh, sorry to hear." This was going nowhere fast...but there might be a seed of an interview in there. This was a fox with a story, that much was certain. "May I ask why?"

"That seems remarkably intrusive. It's only been a minute or so."

He was right, I know he was.

"Sir, the segment itself is quite short," I lied. We could always edit another shorter one in after.

"Fine," he sighed, defeated already, giving one eye another rub with his forearm, "I suppose that's why I'm here." He adjusted himself once again in his seat, pulling at the vile strip of cloth that covered his genitals. The more I thought about that thing, the more repulsive it seemed - but hey, he was gonna give me a story, so suck it up, Vallance, you exhausted twat. That fancy MD recorder was expensive, you need these wages.

"It was sometime in the twilight season," he began - I assume he meant autumn. "The forest I called home was getting colder, and the nights were drawing closer. It was prime time for an attack. I was out...foraging, with my father. We had known for a while that other tribes were stalking the area," he reached up to scratch his ear for a second, pausing. The tension was diffusing a little, thankfully.

"What we didn't expect was when they would attack," he sighed, rubbing again, other eye this time, as I immediately began to anticipate what happened. "We were heading back in the darkness, when we noticed the camp was brighter than usual - that's when we heard the screams of our tribesmen. They noticed us just as we noticed them: wolves, around thirty or so. They were already halfway through the massacre by the time we arrived..."

He let out another sigh, closing his eyes. Even a heartless journalist like me knew he was reliving something hard - but that was why I didn't speak up, it would make a great story.

"My memory of the next while is fuzzy. I remember pain, they beat me initially. And I remember blood. They slaughtered most of my tribe." His ears flattened back as he spoke now, eyes closed. He shuddered momentarily, gripping his bony thighs - I can only assume he was imagining something violent - before continuing. "I... convinced them not to kill me."

Without missing a beat, I had to ask:

"How?"

Once again he recoiled, this time less in fear and more in what looked like shame.

"I...was a lot cuter back then. Dad always told me so. He liked going--" he stammered slightly, "going foraging together. He always wore just his breechcloth, and said he liked how I looked in mine...so did the wolves."

Yikes. Are we even allowed to air that? I could tell that it was super bothering him, he was scrubbing harder at his eyes now, which I had started to pick up was probably a nervous tick, but I guess we did end up airing it, so... anyway, swiftly moving on before we get a harassment lawsuit.

"How did you escape?"

"In the night. One of the wolves, the big dumb one, he was...one of my bigger fans. However, he wasn't very good at tying knots. It seems anticlimactic, but I simply snuck away in the night."

"Fascinating..." to my surprise I found that, to a degree, I was starting to be genuine about my interest. It was a decent tale, one that I'm surprised we aired for sure, but still decent. But we still had some time left, and that was a lot of backstory - how does he live now? Why is he so rugged? What's with the eye thing, which he picked at again in the silence? Might as well ask.

"So, Llwynog. That sounds like it would be a...distressing experience. I'm sorry to hear."

"Thanks, I guess."

"So how's the wanderer life? Why would you not find another tribe?"

This seemed to sadden him somewhat, as he looked away, scrubbing a wrist over his left eye.

"I can't. I doubt another tribe would accept me, a tainted escapee..."

"Surely they would," I queried, "I'd...hardly call you that, you're not thaaaat bad..."

That was a fucking lie, I told myself. As interesting as he was, I could still smell him across the room. He smelt of wet dust and armpit sweat with a side of piss that I could only assume was the breechcloth, it wasn't particularly pleasant and was still putting me off a little. I kept thinking how much bleach that seat cushion would need.

"I don't know..."

"Have you not encountered others on your travels?"

"Some. Most are kind. I'm not a grand hunter, and sometimes find myself hungered, with which a few individuals have helped over time; but I try not to burden them for long. Survival is difficult enough without extra incompetents to cater for."

Man, that was...kinda sad. I hadn't seen self-esteem this low since I was in high school. This was gonna be a depressing segment if I didn't ask something else.

"So, why the eye thing? For listeners' benefit, our friend here has kind of been rubbing his eyes a lot as we've talked. Not a tick I've seen before, that one. What's up with that?"

"I don't get a lot of sleep. I never have, since I lost my tribe. It's created a bit of strain. My eyes...are they bad?"

"Ehhhh, they're fiiine," I told him, lying. He looked like someone had rubbed mud around his sockets and it had gotten into his eyes and was stinging, it didn't look healthy. There was about a sixth of his right that was just fully crimson red, like he'd popped a blood vessel or something.

"I'll take your word for it. Are we done? Your questions have been rude, and this room is cold," he sighed, looking to the door. I didn't have much choice, he seemed like he was getting uncomfortable again - I think he saw through that last bluff. With a sigh, I nodded.

"Yes, we're done. Thank you for your time, mister Llwynog, your story has been very intriguing. This has been Terry Vallance with BackTalk, and you're listening to Connect Radio. Now for the news." With that, I clicked stop on the recorder.

He simply nodded at me. I felt a little bad for being so intrusive, I could sense an abject sadness behind his gaze at reliving such tales, but I kept my professionalism around me. I thanked him for his time, to which he nodded again in return, stood, pivoted on his heels, and made for the door. The last I saw of him was a messy tail nearly getting trapped in the doorframe. I think they ended up editing a second half onto the final broadcast, some nervous concubine from the 1800s.

It took hours to get the smell of cave fox out of that chair, the cleaner told me.