The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [119]
The young horse was shaken, and the man paused to lay a calming hand on his arching neck, then he twisted off a branch from a nearby bush and used it to prod the ground ahead. When that was swallowed, he took the third long pole, which was not used for the travois, and explored with it. Though covered with reeds and sedge, the small field turned out to be a deep sinkhole of waterlogged clay and silt. The horses’ agile retreat had averted a possible disaster, but they approached the Great Mother River with more caution from then on. Her capricious diversity could hold some unwelcome surprises.
Birds continued to be the dominant wildlife of the delta, particularly several varieties of herons, egrets, and ducks, with large numbers of pelicans, swans, geese, cranes, and some black storks and colorful glossy ibises nesting in trees. Nesting seasons varied with species, but all of them had to reproduce during the warmer times of year. The travelers collected eggs from all the different birds for quick and easy meals—even Wolf discovered the trick of cracking shells—and developed a taste for some of the mildly fishy flavored varieties.
After a time they became accustomed to the birds of the delta. There were fewer surprises as they began to know what to expect, but one evening, as they were riding close to silvery sallow woods beside the river, they came upon a stunning scene. The trees opened up on a large lagoon, almost a lake, though at first they thought it was a firmer landscape, since large water-lily plants covered it completely. The sight that had arrested their attention was hundreds of the smaller squacco herons, standing—long necks curved into an S and long beaks poised to stab at fish—on nearly every single one of the sturdy lily pads that surrounded each fragrant blooming white flower.
Beguiled, they watched for a while, then decided to leave, afraid that Wolf might come bounding up and frighten the birds off their roosts. They were a short distance beyond the place, setting up their camp, when they saw hundreds of the long-necked herons climbing into the air. Jondalar and Ayla stopped and gazed at the sight as the birds, flapping large wings, became dark silhouettes against the pink clouds of the eastern sky. The wolf came loping into camp then, and Ayla supposed he had routed them. Though he made no real attempt to catch any, he had such fun chasing the flocks of marsh birds that she wondered if he did it because he enjoyed watching them lift into the air. She was certainly awed by the sight.
Ayla woke the next morning feeling hot and sticky. The heat was already gathering force, and she didn’t want to get up. She wished they could just relax for a day. It wasn’t so much that she was tired, just tired of traveling. Even the horses need a rest, she thought. Jondalar had been pushing to keep going, and she could sense the need that was driving him, but if one day would make that much difference in crossing the glacier he kept talking about, then they were already too late. They would need more than one sure day of the right kind of weather to be certain of safe travel. But when he got up and started packing, she did, too.
As the morning progressed, the heat and humidity, even on the open plain, were becoming oppressive, and when Jondalar suggested that they stop for a swim, Ayla instantly agreed. They turned toward the river and welcomed the sight of a shaded clearing that opened to the water. A seasonal streambed that was still slightly soggy and filled with decaying leaves left only a small patch of grass, but it created a cool, inviting pocket surrounded by pines and willows. It led to a muddy backwater ditch, but a short distance beyond, at a bend in the river, a narrow, pebbly beach jutted into a quiet pool, dappled with sun filtering through overhanging willows.
“This is perfect!” Ayla said with a big smile.
As she started to unhitch the travois, Jondalar asked, “Do you really think that’s necessary? We won