The Land of Painted Caves - Jean M. Auel [311]
She rode until sunset, then stopped and made camp beside The River. Sleeping alone in her small tent made her think about Jondalar again. She crawled into her furs and closed her eyes, and kept seeing visions of the tall man with the thrilling blue eyes, wishing he were there to wrap his arms around her, wishing she could feel his mouth on hers. She rolled over, closed her eyes, and tried again to go to sleep. She kept tossing and turning but could not get to sleep. Wolf was beside her and started whining.
“Am I keeping you awake, too, Wolf?” Ayla said.
He sat up and poked his nose out of the opening under the closure, a growl deep in his throat. He squirmed his way under the flap that was loosely tied across the triangular-shaped front of the small tent, his growl becoming more menacing.
“Wolf! Where are you going? Wolf?”
She quickly untied the closure and started out, then turned back and reached for her spear-thrower and a couple of spears. The moon was waning, but there was still enough light to see reflected shapes. She saw the pole-drag, then noticed that Whinney was moving away from it. Even in the limited moonglow, she could tell from the way the mare moved that she was nervous. Wolf was crouching low, moving in the general direction of the pole-drag, but slightly behind it. Then, for an instant, she glimpsed a shape, a round head with two ears sticking up ending in tufts.
It’s a lynx!
She’d had memories of the large cat with mottled whitish-yellow fur, short stubby tail, and tufted ears. And long legs that could run fast. It was her first encounter with a lynx that had encouraged her to teach herself to cast two stones in rapid succession with her sling, so she wouldn’t be left weaponless after one hurl. She checked to make sure that she had more than one spear as she mounted one on her spear-thrower, ready to throw.
Then she saw his silhouette slinking toward the pole-drag.
“Aaaiiiii!” she screamed, running toward the cat. “Get out of there! That’s not yours! Go away! Get out of here!”
The startled lynx leaped straight up in the air, then sped away. Wolf took off after it, but after a few moments, Ayla whistled. He slowed down, then stopped, and when she whistled again, finally turned around and headed back.
Ayla had brought along a little kindling. She used it to stir up the coals of the fire she had made earlier to heat some water for tea to drink with the traveling cake that she ate before going to bed. The coals had died, so she got her fire-making kit and started a new one. Once she had the kindling lit, she used a piece as a torch to search around for more fuel. She was on an open plain with The River running through it. There were a few trees near The River, but only green wood was available; dried grass was, though, and a few desiccated animal droppings, probably from a bison or an aurochs, she thought. It was enough to keep the small fire going for a while. She laid out her sleeping roll next to the fire and crawled into it with Wolf beside her. Whinney stayed close to Ayla and the fire as well.
She dozed a little during the night, but the least sound roused her. Without bothering to build up the fire, she was on her way again shortly after first light, stopping only long enough for the horse, the wolf, and herself to get a drink from The River. She ate another traveling cake along the way, and sighted the smoke of cooking fires from the Camp before noon. Ayla waved to a few friends as she rode along The River, pulling the pole-drag behind, heading first toward the place upstream where the Ninth Cave had camped before.
She went straight to the glen surrounded by trees. The simple corral made her smile. The horses