The archeologist wiped the sweat from her forehead and returned to brushing the dirt from the skull in the dirt. She had pitched her project to find one of the congregations of the last known races to quit reproducing and all die of old age in the Rangu desert, and so far her findings had been correct.
So far, all of the remains they had found were all over the age of fifty, riddled with arthritis and osteoporosis and age. She was about to make the biggest discovery of her career, her name in all of the journals and research studies on this race of elderly people.
“Miss Areon!” One of her assistants called out from another quadrant of the dig, “We’ve found something!”
It had to be something interesting if they were calling her over. As the head of the dig, they were instructed to call her with anything even remotely interesting. She stood over the assistant as he carefully brushed the dirt away from the tiny skull, to reveal tiny shoulders.
“Were the Maricai known to have dwarf features?” her assistant asked. “Because it looks like a baby.”
She shook her head, her mind reeling with the possibilities. How could she have been so wrong?
“It is a baby,” She answered, grumbling internally about how wrong she had been. “See how the skull hasn’t fully formed into one yet?” She asked, pointing out the feature on the tiny skull.
Now she knew she had a choice to make. Continue with the dig, or give up and search somewhere else for the Maricai people.
“Keep digging,” She instructed the rest of them. These people, whoever they were, had a story to tell too.