The clan of the cave bear_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [143]
When Vorn first took his turn early in the day, he stared out at the distant panorama conscientiously, but then he got bored. He didn’t like being off by himself without even Borg to play with. He devised imaginary hunts and jabbed his not quite full-sized spear into the ground so often that the point became frayed despite fire hardening. It was only by accident that he happened to glance down the hill as the hunting party came into view.
“Tusks! Tusks!” Vorn shouted, racing back to the cave.
“Tusks?” Aga asked. “What do you mean, ‘tusks’?”
“They’re back!” Vorn gesticulated excitedly. “Brun and Droog and the rest, and I saw them carrying tusks!”
Everyone ran halfway to the steppes to greet the victorious hunters. But when they reached them, it was apparent something was wrong. The hunt was successful, the hunters should have been jubilant. Instead their step was heavy and their manner subdued. Brun was grim, and Iza needed only one look at Ayla to know something terrible had happened that involved her daughter.
While the hunting party unloaded some of their burden on those who had remained behind, the reason for the somber silence unfolded. Ayla trudged up the slope with bowed head, oblivious to the surreptitious glances cast in her direction. Iza was dumbfounded. If she had ever worried over the unorthodox actions of her adopted daughter before, it was nothing to the icy shaft of fear she felt for her now.
When they reached the cave, Oga and Ebra brought the child to Iza. She cut away the birchbark cast and examined the boy.
“His arm should be as good as new before long,” she pronounced. “He’ll be scarred, but the wounds are healing and the arm is set well. I’d better put another cast on it, though.”
The women breathed easier. They knew Ayla was inexperienced, and though they had little choice but to allow the girl to treat Brac, they were concerned. A hunter needed two good strong arms. If Brac lost the use of one, he would never become a leader as he was destined. If he was unable to hunt, he would not even become a man, but would live out his life in the ambiguous limbo in which older boys, who had reached physical maturity but had not made their first kill, existed.
Brun and Broud were relieved, too. But for Brun, at least, the news was received with mixed emotions. It made his decision more difficult. Ayla had not only saved Brac’s life, she had assured his useful existence. The matter had been put off long enough. He signaled Mog-ur and they walked off together.
The story, as Brun explained it, left Creb deeply troubled. Ayla was his responsibility to raise and train and he had obviously failed. But there was something else that troubled him even more. When he first learned of the animals the men kept finding, he felt it had nothing to do with spirits. He even wondered if Zoug or one of the other men was playing some kind of elaborate joke on the rest. It seemed unlikely, but his intuition told him the deaths were caused by a human agent. He had also been aware of changes in Ayla, changes he should have recognized now that he thought about it. Women did not walk with the quiet stealth of a hunter, they made noise and with good reason. More than once, Ayla had startled him by approaching so silently he didn’t hear her coming. There were other things, too, small things that should have made him suspicious.
But he was blinded by his love for her. He didn’t allow himself to imagine she could be hunting, he was far too aware of the consequences. It caused the old magician to question his own integrity, his ability to perform his function. He had let his feeling for the girl come before the spiritual safekeeping of the clan. Did he still merit their trust? Was he still worthy of Ursus? Could he still justifiably continue as Mog-ur?
Creb took the blame for her actions on himself. He should have questioned her; he should not have let her roam so freely; he should have