The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [117]
With velvety darkness filling in every shadow and outline, an accompaniment to the other sounds grew that filled in all the intervals between them. From every channel and riverbank, lake and lily-pad-covered lagoon, a chorus of frogs serenaded their unseen audience. The deep bass voices of marsh and edible frogs developed the tone of the amphibian choir, while fire-bellied toads added their honging, bell-like melody. In counterpoint were the fluty trills of variegated toads, blended with the gentle croon of spadefoot toads, all set to the cadence of the tree frog’s sharp karreck-karreck-karreck.
By the time Ayla and Jondalar got into their bedroll, the incessant song of the frogs had faded into the background of familiar sounds, but the anticipated wolf howls, when they finally were heard in the distance, still gave Ayla chills. Wolf sat up and answered their call.
“I wonder if he misses a wolf pack?” Jondalar said, putting his arm around Ayla. She cuddled against him, glad for his warmth and closeness.
“I don’t know, but I worry, sometimes. Baby left me to find his mate, but male lions always leave their home territories to look for mates from another pride.”
“Do you think Racer will want to leave us?” the man asked.
“Whinney did for a while and lived with a herd. I’m not sure how the other mares took to her, but she came back after her stallion died. Not all male horses live with female herds. Each herd only chooses one, and then he has to fight off the other males. The young stallions, and older ones, usually live together in their own herd, but they are all drawn to the mares when it is their season to share Pleasures. I’m sure Racer will be, too, but he would have to fight with the chosen stallion,” Ayla explained.
“Maybe I can keep him on a lead rope during that time,” Jondalar said.
“I don’t think you’ll have to worry for a while. It is usually in spring that horses share Pleasures, soon after they drop their foals. I’m more worried about the people we may meet on our Journey. They don’t understand that Whinney and Racer are special. Someone may try to hurt them. They don’t seem very willing to accept us, either.”
As Ayla lay in Jondalar’s arms, she wondered what his people would think of her. He noticed that she was quiet and pensive. He kissed her, but she did not seem as responsive as usual. Perhaps she was tired, he thought, it had been a full day. He was tired, himself. He fell asleep listening to the chorus of frogs. He woke up to the thrashing and calling out of the woman in his arms.
“Ayla! Ayla! Wake up! It’s all right.”
“Jondalar! Oh, Jondalar,” Ayla cried, clinging to him. “I was dreaming … about the Clan. Creb was trying to tell me something important, but we were deep in a cave and it was dark. I couldn’t see what he was saying.”
“You were probably thinking about them today. You talked about them when we were on that large island looking at the sea. I thought you seemed upset. Were you thinking that you were leaving them behind?” he asked.
She closed her eyes and nodded, not sure if she could voice the words without tears, and she hesitated to mention her concerns about his people, whether they would accept not only her, but the horses, and Wolf. The Clan and her son had been lost to her, she did not want to lose her family of animals, too, if they managed to reach his home safely with them. She only wished she knew what Creb had been trying to tell her in her dream.
Jondalar held her, comforting her with his warmth and love, understanding her sorrow but not knowing what to say. His closeness was enough.
12
The northern arm of the Great Mother River, with its meandering network of channels, was the winding,