The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [261]
While she was working her way toward the mare, some of the horses stopped grazing and looked up, but they weren’t looking at her. She had a sudden feeling that something was not right. She turned around to look for Jondalar, and she saw a wisp of smoke, and then another. It was the smell of smoke she had noticed. The field of dry grass was ablaze in several places. Suddenly, through the haze of the smoke, she saw figures running toward the horses, shouting and brandishing torches! They were chasing the horses toward the edge of the field, toward the sharp drop-off, and Whinney was among them!
The horses were beginning to panic, but among the high-pitched sounds she thought she heard a familiar neigh coming from another direction. Looking north, she spied Racer with his lead rope dragging behind, running toward the herd. Why did he have to break loose now? And where was Jondalar? The air was filled with more than smoke. She could feel the tension and smell the contagious fear of the horses as they started moving away from the fire.
Horses were jostling around her, and she couldn’t see Whinney any more, but Racer was coming toward her, running fast, caught up in the panic. She whistled loud and long, then made a dash for him. He slowed and turned in her direction, but his ears were laid flat back and his eyes were rolling with fear. She reached him and grabbed for the rope dangling from his halter, yanking his head around. He screamed and reared as horses dodged around him. The rope burned as he yanked it through Ayla’s hands, but she held on, and when his forefeet touched the ground, she grabbed his mane and leaped up on his back.
Racer reared again. Ayla was nearly thrown, but she held on. The horse was still full of fear, but he was used to a weight on his back. There was a comfort in it, and in the familiar woman. He settled down to a run, but it was difficult for her to control the horse Jondalar had trained. Though she had ridden Racer a few times and knew the signals that had been developed for the horse, she was not accustomed to guiding with reins or a rope. The man had used both with equal ease, and the stallion knew the confidence of his usual rider. He did not respond well to Ayla’s first tentative attempts, but she was looking for Whinney while trying to settle him down, and she was distracted by her anxious need to find her friend.
Horses were running, crowding together all around her, neighing, whinnying, screaming, and their fear was strong in her nostrils. She whistled again, loud and piercing, but she wasn’t sure if she could be heard above the din, and she knew the urge to run was powerful.
Suddenly, in the haze of dust and smoke, Ayla saw a horse slow, try to turn away and resist the urgings of the panicked horses racing past her, communicating their fear of the fire. Though her coat was the color of the choking air, Ayla knew it was Whinney. She whistled again to encourage her, and she saw her beloved mare stop, undecided. The instinct to run with the herd was strong in her, but that whistle had always meant safety, security, love, and she was not as frightened of the fire. She had been raised with the smell of smoke nearby. It had only signaled the proximity of people.
Ayla saw Whinney standing her ground while other horses brushed close or bumped her while trying to avoid her. The woman urged Racer forward. The mare started to turn back toward the woman, but a light-colored horse suddenly appeared, seemingly out of the dust. The big herd stallion tried to head her off, screaming a warning challenge at Racer, even in his panic, trying to keep his new mare away from the younger male. This time Racer screamed a response, then pranced and pawed the ground and started for the bigger animal, forgetting in all the excitement that he was too young and inexperienced to fight a mature stallion.
Then, for some reason—a sudden change of mind or contagion of fear—the stallion