The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [118]
They ventured into the marshy wetlands frequently, usually making camp close to the river, and they were often astonished by the diversity they found. The massive river mouth had seemed so uniform in the distance when they had viewed it from the large island, but at close hand it revealed a wide range of landscapes and vegetation, from bare sand to dense forest.
One day they rode past fields upon fields of cattails, with brown flowerheads bunched into the shape of sausages, topped by spikes covered with masses of yellow pollen. The next, they saw vast beds of tall phragmite reeds, more than twice Jondalar’s height, growing together with the shorter, more graceful variety; the slender plants grew nearer the water and were more densely packed together.
The islands formed by the deposition of suspended silt, usually long, narrow tongues of land made up of sand and clay, were buffeted by the waters of the surging river and the conflicting currents of the sea. The result was a variegated mosaic of reed beds, wetlands, steppes, and forests in many different stages of development, all subject to rapid change and full of surprises. The shifting diversity extended even beyond the boundary. The travelers unexpectedly came upon oxbow lakes that were completely cut off from the delta, between banks that had begun as isles of sedimentation in the river.
Most islands were originally stabilized by beach plants and giant lyme grass that reached nearly five feet, which the horses loved—the high salt content attracted many other grazing animals as well. But the landscape could change so rapidly that they sometimes found islands, within the confines of the immense mouth of the river, with beach plants still surviving on inland dunes beside fully mature woods, complete with trailing lianas.
As the woman and man traveled beside the great river, they often had to cross small tributaries, but the running streams were hardly noticeable as the horses splashed through them, and the small rivers were not difficult to negotiate. The wet lowlands of slowly drying channels that had changed course were another matter. Jondalar usually detoured around them. He was acutely aware of the danger of swampy fens and the soft silty soil that often formed in such places, because of the bad experience he and his brother had had when they had come that way before. But he didn’t know the dangers that were sometimes hidden by rich greenery.
It had been a long, hot day. Jondalar and Ayla, looking for a place to camp for the night, had turned toward the river and saw what appeared to be a likely possibility. They headed down a slope toward a cool, inviting glen with tall sallows shading a particularly green lea. Suddenly a large brown hare bounded into view on the other side of the field. Ayla urged Whinney on as she reached for the sling at her waist, but as they started across the green, the horse hesitated when the solid earth beneath her hooves became spongy.
The woman felt the change of pace almost immediately, and it was fortunate that her first instinctive reaction was to follow the mare’s lead, even though her mind was on securing dinner. She pulled up short just as Jondalar and Racer came pounding up. The stallion, too, noticed the softer ground, but his momentum was greater, and it carried him a few steps farther.
The man was almost thrown as Racer’s front feet sank into a slurry of thick, silty mud, but he caught himself and jumped down alongside the horse. With a sharp whinny and a wrenching twist, the young stallion, his hind legs still on solid ground, managed to pull one leg out of the sucking morass. Stepping back and finding firmer support,