SURTALCHILGAAN DEER DARAHAD ARILJ KINO GARNA.
Take, for example, the Croods’ rough casa. Of course, their Paleolithic rural home not look like much to you and me. It needs toilets. It needs windows. There’s nothing about it to make a Cro-Magnon Realtor salivate. In any case, it has character, this place—a decent little edge in back (an impeccable withdraw in the wake of a prolonged day of mammoth chasing), stone ledges (and dividers and roofs and furniture) and a best in class security framework (a huge shake that serves as the front entryway). It’s for the most part dry and generally warm and for the most part protected.
What’s more, given the area, being protected is a major ordeal.
Not that there’s a superior neighborhood to move to. We’re talking ancient times here, before even the most simple of HOAs. Meat eating beasties have overwhelm perky close everything, and the Croods’ neighbors have all been squished or eaten or coincidentally harmed—a pattern that truly drags down property estimations while at the same time making you always appreciative for what you have—your decent, protected, very much developed buckle. Also, Grug, leader of the Crood family unit, values his give in massively—to such an extent that he once in a while gives whatever is left of the family a chance to abandon it.
At that point, in an uncommon minute when the Croods are out on the town, the ground starts to shimmy. Gaps shape underneath their feet. Bluff confronts start to swamp their mineral skins, sending rocks lurching toward the terrified brood of Croods. The entire world is by all accounts going to pieces—since, well, it is.
The family makes a distraught dash for the security of their surrender … however think that its gone, crushed by the disturbance. What’s more, given that the principal home protection strategy won’t be composed for a great many years, all appears to be lost. Without the comfortable limits of their jagged cabin, Grug stresses, they’ll be eaten up by rampaging critters in a matter of seconds.
“We require a give in,” Grug says.
Be that as it may, Eep, Grug’s determined high school little girl, accepts there might be a superior way. The prior night, she met a person named … Guy. He was distinctive, this Guy: He stood upright and wore a monkey/sloth/critter ’round his center that he called Belt. Gracious, and he conveyed the sun with him as well—or, no less than, a small scale form of it. He called it Fire. At the point when Eep conversed with him, Guy appeared to know something about the world consummation—and he had an arrangement to manage it. Perhaps they could interface with him. Possibly he could help them all arrangement with this entire “end of everything” thing. Perhaps they could figure out how to advance on the planet without everlastingly falling down in a cave.
There might be no place like home. In any case, regardless of how great the house is, it won’t be worth much in case you’re not around to appreciate it.