The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [100]
He tried to console himself with the knowledge that she was a strong swimmer, but his concern caused him to increase his efforts to get across the river. When he finally reached the opposite shore, far downstream of their starting point, and felt the bottom grate against the rocky beach that jutted out from the inside corner of a bend, he breathed a ragged sigh. Then he climbed out and dragged the heavily loaded small boat up on the shore and sank down, giving in to his exhaustion. After a few moments, though, he stood up and started walking back along the river in search of Ayla.
He stayed close to the water, and when he came to a small tributary stream that was adding its measure to the river, he just waded through it. But some time later, when he reached another river of more than respectable size, he hesitated. This was not a river that could be waded, and if he attempted to swim across so close to the major watercourse, he’d be swept into it. He’d have to walk upstream beside the smaller river until he found a more suitable place to attempt a crossing.
Ayla, riding on Whinney, reached the same river not long after, and she also headed upstream for a distance. But a decision about where to cross on horseback required different considerations. She didn’t go nearly as far as Jondalar did before she turned her horse into the water. Racer and Wolf followed behind, and, with only a short swim across the middle, they were soon across. Ayla started down toward the large river but, looking back, she saw Wolf heading the other way.
“Come on, Wolf. This way,” she called. She whistled impatiently, then signaled Whinney to continue. The canine hesitated, started toward her, then went back again before he finally followed her. When she reached the large river, she turned downstream and urged the mare to a gallop.
Ayla’s heart beat faster when she thought she saw a round, bowl-shaped object on a rocky beach ahead. “Jondalar! Jondalar!” she shouted, racing toward it at fall speed. She jumped down before her horse came to a full stop and rushed toward the boat. She looked inside it, and then around the beach. Everything seemed to be there, including the three poles, everything except Jondalar.
“Here’s the boat, but I can’t find Jondalar,” she said aloud. She heard Wolf yip, as if in response. “Why can’t I find Jondalar? Where is he? Did the boat float here by itself? Didn’t he make it across?” Then it struck her. Maybe he went looking for me, she thought. But if I was coming down the river, and he was going upstream, how did we miss each other…
“The river!” she almost shouted. Wolf yipped again. Suddenly she recalled his hesitation after they had crossed the large tributary. “Wolf!” she called.
The large four-legged animal ran toward her and jumped up, putting his paws on her shoulders. She grabbed the thick fur of his neck with both hands, looked at his long muzzle and intelligent eyes, and remembered the young, weak boy who had reminded her so much of her son. Rydag had sent Wolf to look for her once, and he had traveled across a long distance to find her. She knew he could find Jondalar, if she could only make him understand what she wanted.
“Wolf, find Jondalar!” she said. He jumped down and began sniffing around the boat, then started back the way they had come, upstream.
Jondalar had been waist-high in water, carefully picking his way across the smaller river, when he thought he heard a faint bird whistle that sounded somehow familiar—and impatient. He stopped and closed his eyes, trying to place it, then shook his head, not even sure if he’d actually heard it, and continued across. When he reached the other side and started walking toward the major river,