The Mammoth Hunters - Jean M. Auel [281]
Ayla was nearly dressed when the “yip, yip” of the young wolf made her look up and smile.
“Wolf! What are you doing here? Did you run away from Rydag?” she said, as the puppy jumped up on her in greeting, pleased and excited to have found her. Then he began sniffing around the area while she gathered up her things.
“Well, now that you’ve found me, we can go back. Come on, Wolf Let’s go. What are you after in those bushes … Jondalar!”
Ayla was stunned beyond words when she discovered what the young wolf had been after, and Jondalar was too embarrassed to speak, yet their eyes held, and spoke more than words could say. But they would not believe what they saw. Finally Jondalar attempted to explain.
“I was … uh … walking by, and … uh …”
He gave up, not even trying to finish his lame attempt at an excuse, turned and walked quickly away. Ayla followed him back toward the Camp more slowly, trudging up the slope toward the earthlodge. Jondalar’s behavior confused her. She wasn’t sure how long he had been there, but she knew he had been watching her, and wondered why he had been hiding from her. She didn’t know what to think, but as she went into the lodge through the annex to the Mammoth Hearth to find Mamut so he could complete her preparations, she remembered the way Jondalar had looked at her.
Jondalar did not return to the Camp immediately. He wasn’t sure he could face her, or anyone, just then. When he neared the path from the river up to the lodge, he turned around and walked back, and soon found himself at the same secluded spot.
He walked to the remains of the little fire, kneeled down and felt the slight heat with his hand, and half closed his eyes remembering the scene he had secretly watched. When he opened his eyes, he spied the flint core she had left behind, and picked it up to examine it. Then he saw the chips and flakes she had struck off, and fit some of them back on, to study the process more closely. Near scraps of leather, he saw the awl. He picked it up and looked it over. It wasn’t made in the style he was accustomed to. It seemed too simple, almost crude, but it was a good, effective tool. And sharp, he thought, when it nicked his finger.
The tool she had made reminded him of Ayla, seemed, in its way, to represent the enigma of her, the apparent contradictions. Her innocent candor, shrouded in mystery; her simplicity, steeped in ancient knowledge; her honest naïveté, surrounded by the depth and wealth of her experience. He decided to keep it, to remind himself of her always, and wrapped the sharp tool in the leather scraps to take it with him.
The feast was eaten in the warmth of the afternoon, inside at the cooking hearth, but with the archway drapes, even those of the new annex, thrown back and tied open to allow fresh air and easy access. Many of the festivities were conducted outside, particularly games and competitions—wrestling seemed to be a favored spring sport—and singing and dancing.
Gifts were exchanged to wish luck, happiness, and good will, in emulation of the Great Earth Mother, who was again bringing life and warmth to the land, to show their appreciation of the gifts of the earth She bestowed on them. The gifts were usually small items such as belts and knife sheaths, animal teeth with holes pierced through the root or grooved for cord to wrap around for suspension as pendants, and strings of beads which could be used as they were or sewn onto clothing. This year the new thread-puller was a favorite gift to give and receive, along with needle cases, little tubes of ivory or hollow bones of birds, in which to hold them. Nezzie had made the first one, which she kept with a square of mammoth skin used as a thimble in her decorated sewing pouch. Several others borrowed her idea.
The firestones owned by each hearth were considered magic and held sacred, and kept in the niche along with the figure of the Mother, but Barzec gave away several tinder kits which he devised,