The Mammoth Hunters - Jean M. Auel [356]
“He was looking for me,” Ayla said to her. “I think he mistook you for me. You can go now, but walk, don’t run.”
Ayla scratched Baby on his stomach and behind his ears, until the girl walked into the waiting arms of a man, who clasped her to him with obvious relief, then led her up the path. The rest were standing back, holding their spears in readiness. Among them she saw Jondalar, with his spear-thrower poised in readiness, and beside him a shorter, dark-skinned man. Talut was on the other side of Ranec, and Tulie beside him.
“You have to go, Baby. I don’t want you to get hurt. Even if you are the biggest cave lion on the earth, a spear can stop you,” Ayla said, talking in the special language that grew out of Clan words and signs and animal sounds. Baby was familiar with the sounds, and certain of the signals. He rolled over and got up. Ayla hugged him around the neck, and then she couldn’t resist. She slid her leg over and eased onto his back, and hung on to his reddish mane. It was not the first time.
She felt hard, powerful muscles bunch beneath her, then with a leap, he was off, and in an instant, reached the full speed of a lion on the chase. Though she had ridden the lion before, she had never been able to develop any signals to direct him. He went where he wanted to go, but he allowed her to go with him. It was always an exciting wild ride, and she loved it for just that reason. Ayla clung to his mane, as the wind whipped her face, and breathed in his strong, rangy odor.
Ayla felt him turn and slow—the lion was a sprinter; unlike the wolf, he had no endurance for the long distance—and she looked ahead to see Whinney waiting, patiently grazing. The horse nickered as they approached, and tossed her head. Baby’s lion smell was strong and disturbing, but the mare had helped to raise this animal from a cub, and in her own way had mothered him. Though he was nearly as tall at the withers as she was, and longer and heavier, the horse had no fear of this particular lion, especially when Ayla was with him.
When the lion stopped, Ayla slid off his back. She hugged him and scratched him again, then with a signal that was suggestive of casting a stone with a sling, she told him to go. Tears fell as she watched him walk away, his tail weaving from side to side. When she heard the distinctive tone of his “hnk, hnk, hnk” grunting voice, that she would recognize anywhere, she sobbed in answer. The tears flooded and her vision blurred as the big tawny cat with the reddish mane disappeared into the tall grass. She knew, somehow, that she would never ride him again; that she would never see her wild, unlikely, lion son again.
The “hnk, hnk” grunts continued until finally the huge cave lion, gigantic compared with his later counterparts, sounded a deep, full-bellied, shattering roar that could be heard for miles. He shook the very earth with his farewell.
Ayla signaled to Whinney, and started walking back. As much as she loved riding her mare, she wanted to remember the feel of that last wild ride as long as she could.
Jondalar finally tore his eyes away from the mesmerizing scene and noticed the expressions on the faces of the others. He could see what they were thinking. Horses were one thing, even a wolf maybe, but a cave lion? He beamed a wide, smug grin of pride and relief. Let someone question his stories now!
The men started up the path after Ayla, feeling almost foolish carrying spears no one had had any use for. The people who had been watching stood back as she neared, making way for the woman and the horse, and stared after her with stunned disbelief and awe. Even the Lion Camp, who had heard Jondalar’s stories, and knew about her life in the valley, could not believe what they had seen.
35
Ayla had been selecting the clothing to take along on the hunt—it could be very cold at night, she was told. They would be in sight of the gigantic wall of ice that was the leading edge of the glacier. To her surprise, Wymez had brought her several expertly made spears,