The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [138]
Proceeding upriver, they both kept looking across the wide stream. Except in general, they hadn’t paid much attention to the territory on the other side until now, and it occurred to Ayla that there may have been people over there that they hadn’t noticed before. They had not gone far when Jondalar caught a movement on the water, some distance upstream. He stopped to verify his sighting.
“Ayla, look over there,” he said when she stopped beside him. “That could be a Ramudoi boat.”
She looked and saw something, but she wasn’t sure what she was seeing. They urged the horses on. When they got closer, Ayla saw a boat unlike anything she had ever seen before. She was only familiar with boats made in the Mamutoi style, hide-covered frames made in the shape of a bowl like the one that was mounted on the travois. The one she saw on the river was made of wood and came to a point in front. It held several people in a row. As they drew abreast, Ayla noticed more people on the opposite shore.
“Hola!” Jondalar called out, waving his arm in greeting. He shouted some other words in a language that was unfamiliar to her, though there seemed to be a vague similiarity to Mamutoi.
The people in the boat did not respond, and Jondalar wondered if he had not been heard, though he thought they had seen him. He called out again, and this time he was sure they had heard him, but they did not wave back. Instead they began paddling for the other side as fast as they could.
Ayla noticed that one of the people on the opposite shore had seen them, too. He ran toward some other people and pointed across the river at them, then he and some of the others left in a hurry. A couple of people stayed until the boat reached shore; then they left.
“It’s the horses, again, isn’t it?” she said.
Jondalar thought he saw a tear glisten. “It wouldn’t have been a good idea to cross the river here, anyway. The Cave of Sharamudoi that I know live on this side.”
“I suppose so,” she said, signaling Whinney to move on. “But they could have crossed in their boat. They could at least have answered your greeting.”
“Ayla, think how strange we must look, sitting on these horses. We must seem like something from some spirit world with four legs, and two heads,” he said. “You can’t blame people for being afraid of something they don’t know.”
Ahead, across the water, they could see a spacious valley that dropped down from the mountains nearly to the level of the mighty stream beside them. A sizable river rushed through the middle of it and entered the Great Mother with a turbulence that sent eddies in both directions and broadened her width. Adding to the play of countercurrents, just beyond the tributary the southern range that bounded the river’s right bank curved back around.
In the valley, near the confluence of the two rivers, but up on a slope, they saw several dwellings made of wood, obviously a settlement. Standing around them were the people who lived there, gaping at the travelers passing by across the river.
“Jondalar,” Ayla said. “Let’s get off the horses.”
“Why?”
“So those people will at least see that we look like people, and the horses are just horses, not some two-headed creatures with four legs,” she said. Ayla dismounted and began walking in front of the mare.
Jondalar nodded, threw his leg over, and leaped down. Taking hold of the lead rope, he followed her. But the woman had just started out when the wolf ran up to her and greeted her in his customary way. He jumped up, put his paws on her shoulders, licked her, and nuzzled her jaw, gently, with his teeth. When he got down, something, perhaps a scent wafting across the wide river, made him conscious of the people who were watching. He went to the edge of the bank and, lifting his head, began a series of yips that led into a heart-stopping ululation of wolf song.
“Why is he doing that?” Jondalar