The Mammoth Hunters - Jean M. Auel [355]
“Isn’t he beautiful, Ayla?” Deegie said.
“Yes, isn’t he beautiful?” Tricie asked, her tone sharper.
Ayla looked at the young mother. “No, he’s not beautiful.” Deegie gaped at her with surprise. “No one could ever say he is beautiful, but he is the most … lovable baby I have ever seen. Not a woman in the world could resist him. He doesn’t have to be beautiful. There is something special about him, Tricie. I think you are very lucky to have him.”
The mother’s smile softened. “I think I am, too, Ayla. And I agree, he is not beautiful, but he is good, and so lovable.”
Suddenly there was a commotion outside, shouting and wailing. The three young women hurried to the entranceway.
“O Great Mother! My daughter! Someone help her!” a woman wailed.
“What’s wrong? Where is she?” Deegie asked.
“A lion! A lion has her! Down in the meadow. Someone help her, please!” Several men with spears were already running toward the path.
“A lion? No, it can’t be!” Ayla said, as she started running after the men.
“Ayla! Where are you going?” Deegie called after her, trying to catch up.
“To get the girl,” Ayla called back.
She raced toward the path. A crowd of people was standing near the top of it watching the men with spears running down the path. Beyond them, in plain sight on the grassy floodplain across the river, was a massive cave lion, with a shaggy reddish mane, circling a tall young girl, who was too petrified to move. Ayla looked down, studied the animal closely to make sure, then ran into Lion Camp. Wolf jumped up on her.
“Rydag!” she called. “Come and get Wolf! I’ve got to get that girl.” When Rydag came out of the tent, she commanded the wolf, “Stay!” in her firmest tone, then told the boy not to let him go. Only then did she whistle for Whinney.
She jumped on the mare’s back, and raced down the path. The men with spears were already crossing the river when she guided Whinney around them. As soon as she reached firm ground on the other side, she urged Whinney into a gallop, and headed straight for the lion and the girl. The people watching from the top of the path looked on with wonder and amazement.
“What does she think she can do?” someone said, angrily. “She doesn’t even have a spear. The girl seems unharmed so far, but rushing at the lion with a horse might incite him. If that child is harmed, it will be her fault.”
Jondalar overheard the comment, as well as several other people from the Lion Camp, who turned to him questioningly. He just watched Ayla, swallowing the misgivings that rose in his throat. He couldn’t be sure, but she must have been, or she would never have gone Gown there with Whinney.
As Ayla and Whinney neared, the huge cave lion stopped and faced her. There was a scar on his nose, a familiar scar. She remembered when he got it.
“Whinney, it’s Baby! It really is Baby!” she cried, as she brought the horse to a stop and slid off.
She ran toward the lion, not even considering that he might not remember her. This was her Baby. She was his mother. She had raised him from a small cub, taken care of him, hunted with him.
It was just that fearlessness that he remembered. He started toward her, as the girl watched with fear. The next thing Ayla knew, the lion had tripped her, to knock her down, and she had her arms around his big shaggy neck, hugging him full-length, while he wrapped his forelegs around her in the closest thing to an embrace he could accomplish.
“Oh, Baby, you came back. How did you ever find me?” she cried, wiping her tears of joy in his rough mane.
Finally she sat up, and felt a raspy tongue lick her face. “Stop that!” she said, smiling. “I won’t have any skin left.” She scratched him in his favorite places, and a low, rumbling growl let her know his pleasure. He rolled over on his back so she could scratch his stomach. Ayla noticed the girl, tall, with long