The clan of the cave bear_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [158]
When a heavily overcast sky hid the moon, she became concerned about the passage of time. She remembered exactly what Brun had said: “If, by the grace of the spirits, you are able to return from the otherworld after the moon has gone through its cycle once and is in the same phase as now, you may live with us again.” She didn’t know if she was in the “otherworld,” but more than anything, she wanted to go back. She wasn’t really sure if she could, didn’t know if they would see her if she went back, but Brun said she could, and she clung to the leader’s words. Only how would she know when she could return if the clouds covered the moon?
She remembered a time long before when Creb showed her how to make notches on a stick. She guessed that the collection of notched sticks he kept in a part of the hearth—off limits for the other members of his household—were tallies of the times between significant events. Once, out of curiosity, she decided to keep track of something like he did, and since the moon moved through repetitive cycles, she decided it would be fun to see how many notches it would take to complete one cycle. When Creb found out, he scolded her severely. The reprimand reinforced her memory of the occasion as well as warning her not to do it again. She worried a whole day how she would ever know when she could return to the cave before she remembered that time and decided to notch a stick every night. No matter how she tried to control them, tears came to her eyes every time she made a mark.
Tears came to her eyes often. Small things triggered memories of love and warmth. A startled rabbit bounding across her path reminded her of long shambling walks with Creb. She loved his craggy, one-eyed, scarred old face. The thought of it filled her eyes to overflowing. Seeing a plant she had gathered for Iza, Ayla would burst into sobs remembering the woman explaining how it was used; and a freshet of new tears came when she recalled Creb burning her medicine bag. Nights were the worst.
She was accustomed to being alone during the day from her years of roaming the countryside gathering plants or hunting, but she had never been away from people at night. Sitting alone in her small cave staring at the fire and its glowing reflection dancing against the wall, she cried for the companionship of those she loved. In some ways, she missed Uba most of all. Often she hugged her fur to her chest and rocked back and forth, humming softly under her breath as she had done so often with Uba. Her environment supplied her physical needs but not her human needs.
The first snow sifted down silently during the night. Ayla exclaimed with delight when she stepped out of her cave in the morning. A pristine whiteness softened the contours of the familiar landscape creating a magical dreamland of fantastic shapes and mythical plants. Bushes had top hats of soft snow, conifers were dressed in new gowns of white finery, and bare exposed limbs were clothed in shining coats that outlined each twig against the deep blue sky. Ayla looked at her footprints, marring the perfect, smooth layer of glistening white, then ran across the snowy blanket, crossing and recrossing her own path to make a complex design whose original intent was lost in the execution. She started to follow the tracks of a small animal, then spontaneously changed her mind and climbed out on the narrow ledge of the rocky outcrop swept clean of snow by the wind.
The entire mountain range marching up behind her in a series of majestic peaks was covered with white, shadowed in blue. It sparkled in the sun like a gigantic, luminous jewel. The vista spread out before her showed the lowest reaches of the snowfall.