The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [219]
“Those birds were good,” Jondalar said. “I like the skin crisp like that.”
“This time of year, when they’re so nice and fat, that’s the best way to cook them,” Ayla said. “The feathers are changing color already, and the breast down is so thick. I wanted to take it with us. It would make a nice soft filling for something. Ptarmigan feathers make the lightest and warmest bedding, but I don’t have room for them.”
“Maybe next year, Ayla. The Zelandonii hunt ptarmigan, too,” Jondalar said, as a gentle encouragement, something for her to anticipate at the end of their Journey.
“Ptarmigan were Creb’s favorite,” Ayla said.
Jondalar thought she seemed sad, and when she said nothing more, he kept on talking, hoping it would take her mind off whatever was bothering her. “There’s even one kind of ptarmigan, not around our Caves, but south of us, that doesn’t turn white. All year it looks like a ptarmigan does in summer, and it tastes like the same kind of bird. The people who live in that region call it a red grouse, and they like to use the feathers on their headwear and clothes. They make special costumes for a Red Grouse ceremony, and they dance with the bird’s movements, stamping their feet and everything, like the males do when they are trying to entice the females. It’s part of their Mother Festival.” He paused, but when she still had no comment to make, he continued, “They hunt the birds with nets, and get many at one time.”
“I got one of these with my sling, but Wolf got the other one,” Ayla said. When she said nothing more, Jondalar decided she just didn’t feel like talking, and they sat in silence for a while, watching the fire consume brush and dried dung that had redried after the rains enough to burn. Finally she spoke again. “Remember Brecie’s throwing stick? I wish I knew how to use something like that. She could bring down several birds at one time with it.”
The night cooled quickly, and they were glad for the tent. Though Ayla had seemed unusually silent, full of sadness and remembering, she was warmly responsive to his touch, and Jondalar soon stopped worrying about her quiet mood.
In the morning the air was still brisk, and the condensed moisture had brought a ghostly shimmer of frost to the land again. The icy stream was cold but invigorating when they used it to wash. They had buried Jondalar’s hare, encased in its furry hide, under the hot coals to cook overnight. When they peeled off the blackened skin, the rich layer of winter fat just underneath had basted the usually lean and often stringy meat, and slow cooking within its natural container made it moist and tender. It was the best time of the year to hunt the long-eared animals.
They rode side by side through the tall ripe grass, not rushing but keeping a steady pace, talking occasionally. Small game was plentiful as they headed toward the Sister, but the only large animals they saw all morning were across the river in the distance: a small band of male mammoths, heading north. Later in the day they saw a mixed herd of horses and saiga antelope, also on the other side. Whinney and Racer noticed them, too.
“Iza’s totem was the Saiga,” Ayla said. “That was a very powerful totem for a woman. Even stronger than Creb’s birth totem, the Roe Deer. Of course, the Cave Bear had chosen him and was his second totem before he became Mog-ur.”
“But your totem is the Cave Lion. That’s a much more powerful animal than a saiga antelope,” Jondalar said.
“I know. It’s a man’s totem, a hunter’s totem. That’s why it was so hard for them to believe it, at first,” Ayla said. “I don’t really remember, but Iza told me that Brun even got angry at Creb when he named it at my adoption ceremony. That’s why everyone was sure I would never have any children. No man had a totem powerful enough to defeat the Cave Lion. It was a big surprise when I got pregnant with Durc, but I’m