The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [234]
The crisp, cold, clear days gave them a wide panoramic view, obscured only by morning mists when the sun warmed the condensed moisture from the night to above freezing. To the east now were the mountains they had skirted when they followed the great river across the hot southern plains, the same mountains over whose southwest corner they had climbed. The glistening glaciered peaks moved imperceptibly closer as the range curved toward the northwest in a great arc.
On their left, the highest chain of mountains on the continent, bearing a heavy crown of glacial ice that reached halfway down its flanks, marched in ridges from east to west. The towering, shining peaks loomed in the purple distance as a vaguely sinister presence, an apparently insurmountable barrier between the travelers and their ultimate destination. The Great Mother River would take them around the broad northern face of the range to a relatively small glacier that covered, with an armor of ice, an ancient rounded massif at the northwestern end of the alpine foreland of the mountains.
Lower and closer, beyond a grassy plain broken up by pine woods, another massif rose. The granite highland overlooked steppe meadows and the Mother, but gradually decreased as they continued north, blending into the rolling hills that continued all the way to the foothills of the western mountains. Fewer and fewer trees broke the openness of the grassy landscape, and those that did began to take on the familiar dwarfed contortions of trees sculptured by wind.
Ayla and Jondalar had traveled nearly three-quarters of the entire distance, from south to north, of the immense central plains before the first snow flurries began.
“Jondalar, look! It’s snowing!” Ayla said, and her smile was radiant. “It’s the first snow of winter.” She had been smelling snow in the air, and the first snow of the season always seemed special to her.
“I can’t understand why you look so happy about it,” he said, but her smile was contagious and he couldn’t help smiling back. “You’re going to be very tired of snow, and ice, before we see the last of it, I’m afraid.”
“You’re right, I know, but I still love the first snow.” After a few more paces, she asked, “Can we make camp soon?”
“It’s only a little past noon,” Jondalar said, looking puzzled. “Why are you talking about making camp already?”
“I saw some ptarmigan a little while ago. They have started to turn white, but with no snow on the ground, they are easy to see right now. They won’t be after it snows, and they always taste so good this time of year, especially the way Creb liked them, but it takes a long time to cook them that way.” She was remembering, looking off into the distance. “You have to dig a hole in the ground, line it with rocks, and build a fire in it, then put the birds in, all wrapped in hay, cover them up, and then wait.” The words had tumbled out of her mouth so fast, she almost tripped over them. “But it’s worth the wait.”
“Slow down, Ayla. You’re all excited,” he said, smiling with amusement and delight. He loved to watch her when she was filled with such enthusiasm. “If you are sure they will be that delicious, then I guess we ought to make an early camp, and go hunt ptarmigan.”
“Oh, they will be,” she said, looking at Jondalar with a serious expression, “but you’ve eaten them that way. You know how they taste.” Then she noticed his smile and realized he had been playing with her. She pulled her sling out of her waistband. “You make camp, I’ll hunt ptarmigan, and if you’ll help me dig the hole, I’ll even let you taste one,” she said, grinning as she urged Whinney on.
“Ayla!” Jondalar called before she got very far. “If you leave me the pole drag, I’ll have camp all set up for you, ‘Woman Who Hunts.’ ”
She looked startled. “I didn’t know you remembered what Brun named me when he allowed me to hunt,” she said, returning and stopping in front of him.
“I may not have your Clan’s memories, but I do remember some things, especially