The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [153]
When Jondalar approached the edge of the cliff, he felt the familiar ache in his groin from looking far down over empty space, the ache that he had never entirely gotten over in all the time he had lived there. It wasn’t so bad that he couldn’t control it, and he did appreciate the spectacular view, as well as the work it had taken to hack out even a short section of solid stone using only stone boulders and heavy stone axes, but it didn’t change the sensation he invariably felt. Even so, this was better than the other commonly used way of entry.
Keeping Wolf close to her, and Whinney just behind, Ayla followed the youth around the wall. On the other side was a level, roughly U-shaped area of appreciable size. Once, in long ages past when the huge inland basin to the west was a sea, and beginning to empty itself through the defile being worn down through the mountain ridge, the level of the water was much higher, and a sheltered bay had been formed. Now it was a protected embayment, high above the river.
Green grass covered the ground in front, growing nearly to the edge of the drop-off. About halfway back brush, huddling close to the sheer side walls, filled out, becoming small trees that continued up the steep grade at the back. Jondalar knew it was possible to climb the rear wall, though few people did. It was an inconvenient, roundabout exit that was seldom used. On the near side, in the rounded corner at the back, was a sandstone overhang, large enough to shelter several dwellings made of wood, making a comfortable, protected living area.
Across, on the mossy green far side, was the prize possession of the site. A spring of pure water starting high up trickled over rocks, splashed down ledges, and spilled over a smaller sandstone overhang in a long narrow waterfall to a pool beneath. It ran off along the opposite wall to the edge of the cliff and down rocky outcrops to the river.
Several people had stopped what they were doing when the procession, particularly the wolf and the horse, started coming around the wall. By the time Jondalar was in, he saw stunned apprehension on every face.
“Darvo! What are you bringing here?” a voice called out.
“Hola!” Jondalar said, greeting the people in their language. Then, seeing Dolando, he handed Racer’s lead rope to Ayla and, putting an arm around Darvalo’s shoulder, walked toward the leader of the Cave.
“Dolando! It’s me, Jondalar!” he said as he neared.
“Jondalar? Is it really you?” Dolando said, recognizing the man, but still hesitant. “Where are you coming from?”
“East of here. I wintered with the Mamutoi.”
“Who is that?” Dolando asked.
Jondalar knew the man must have been greatly disturbed to have ignored the common forms of courtesy. “Her name is Ayla, Ayla of the Mamutoi. The animals travel with us, too. They answer to her, or to me, and none of them will harm anyone,” Jondalar said.
“Including the wolf?” Dolando asked.
“I touched the wolfs head and felt his fur,” Darvalo said. “He didn’t even try to hurt me.”
Dolando looked at the lad. “You touched him?”
“Yes. She says you just have to get to know them.”
“He’s right, Dolando. I would not come here with anyone, or anything, that would cause harm. Come and meet Ayla, and the animals. You will see.”
Jondalar led the man back to the center of the field. Several other people followed. The horses had begun to graze, but they stopped at the approach of the group. Winney moved in closer to the woman and stood alongside Racer, whose lead rope Ayla still held. Her other hand was on Wolf’s head. The huge northern wolf was standing beside Ayla, watching defensively, but was not overtly threatening.
“How does she make the horses unafraid of the wolf?” Dolando asked.