Over the next two months, they were still getting used to the Primitive Advantage. It was a concept recognized for almost a millennium, an idea that they had spent all their lives learning and teaching how true it is, and yet it was hard to grasp it in the actual experience.
The doorways on their trees were made of weaved bark, which could be closed by the push of a button. When one pressed the button, a holographic arm appeared, making it look like the arm was closing it (the main purpose of Primitive Advantage was to make sure everything makes sense to the animals). It was such that closing it by hand was almost easier.
Their school was a courtyard with special logs that could be written on by brushing one's finger across it. The movement of the finger was close to that of fingers on a keyboard.
Their least favorite thing, however, was their new rules. As the purpose of Primitive Advantage was to work with the animals instead of without, they had to follow a strict set of rules, which limited pollution (even though they didn't have cars anymore, their other technologies still gave off smoke), injury to animals, and above all, animal suspicion. They weren't allowed to kill more than two animals a day. The two animals couldn't be the same species. They couldn't shoot their guns, which were disguised as branches, from more than a foot away from the target. The rules were endless.