The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [260]
Though her coloration was similar to others, the woman knew the particular conformation of her friend too well to doubt it. She whistled and Whinney looked up. “I told you. It is her!”
She whistled again, and Whinney started toward her. But the lead mare, a large, graceful animal with a darker than usual, grayish-gold coat, saw the newest addition to the herd moving away from the fold and moved in to head her off. The herd stallion joined in to help. He was a big, stunning, cream-colored horse with a high-standing silver mane, a gray stripe down his back, and a flowing silvery tail that looked almost white when he swished it. His lower legs were silver-gray, too. He nipped at Whinney’s hocks and herded her toward the rest of the females, who were watching with nervous interest; then he cantered back to challenge the younger stallion. He pawed the ground, then reared and neighed, daring Racer to fight.
The young brown stallion backed away, intimidated, and could not be coaxed to move in closer, much to the frustration of his human companions. From a safe distance, he neighed to his dam, and they heard Whinney’s familiar answering nicker. Ayla and Jondalar dismounted to discuss the situation.
“What are we going to do, Jondalar?” Ayla wailed. “They won’t let her go. How are we going to get her?”
“Don’t worry, we will,” he said. “If necessary, we’ll use the spear-throwers, but I don’t think we’ll have to.”
His assurance calmed her, and she hadn’t thought of the spear-throwers. She didn’t want to kill any horses if she didn’t have to, but she’d do anything to get Whinney back. “Do you have a plan?” she asked.
“I’m pretty sure this herd has been hunted before, so they have some fear of people. That gives us an advantage. The herd stallion probably thinks Racer was trying to challenge him. He and that big mare were trying to keep him from stealing one of their herd. So we have to keep Racer away,” Jondalar began. “Whinney will come when you whistle for her. If I can distract the stallion, you can help her avoid the mare until you get close enough to get on her back. Then, if you shout at the big mare, or even poke her with your spear if she crowds in on Whinney, I think she’ll keep her distance until you ride away.”
Ayla smiled, feeling relieved. “It sounds easy enough. What will we do with Racer?”
“There was a rock a little ways back with a couple of bushes growing near it. I can tether him to one of them. It wouldn’t hold if he really fought it, but he’s used to being tied, and I think he’ll stay there.” Taking the young stallion’s lead rope, Jondalar started back with long strides.
When they reached the rock, Jondalar said, “Here, take your spear thrower and a spear or two.” Then he slipped off the backpack. “I’m going to take this off and leave it for now. It limits my movement.” He took his own thrower and spears out of the holder. “Once you get Whinney, you can get Racer and come back for me.”
The highland angled in a northeast-to-southwest direction, with a gradual incline on the north that became somewhat steeper toward the east. At the southwestern end, it jutted up like a precipice. On the western side, facing the river they had crossed earlier, it fell off sharply enough, but toward the south and the Great Mother River there was a high precipice with a sheer drop. As Ayla and Jondalar walked back toward the horses, the day was clear, and the sun was high in the sky, though well past its zenith. They looked over the steep western edge, then shied back from it, afraid that a misstep or a stumble might carry them down.
When they got closer to the grazing herd, they stopped and tried to find Whinney. The herd—mares, foals, and yearlings—was grazing in the middle of a field of waist-high dry grass; the herd stallion was off to one side, somewhat away from the others. Ayla thought she saw her horse far back, toward the south. She whistled, the dun-yellow mare’s head came up, and Whinney started toward them. With his spear-thrower in hand and a spear in place ready to go, Jondalar slowly edged toward the