The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [420]
From their campsite, they continued riding through open woods until they reached a high point; then they stopped and looked out over the way they had come. Tall pines, standing straight as sentinels, guarded the banks of the Mother River for a long distance back; a winding column of trees leading away from the legion of conifers they could see below, spreading out over the flanks of the mountains that crowded close from the south.
Ahead their uphill climb temporarily leveled off, and an extension of the pine forest, starting at the river, marched across a small valley. They dismounted to lead the horses into the dense woodland and entered a twilight space of profound and eerie silence. Straight dark boles supported a low canopy of spreading long-needled boughs that blocked sunlight and inhibited undergrowth. A layer of brown needles, accumulating for centuries, muffled both footsteps and hoofbeats.
Ayla noticed a collection of mushrooms at the base of a tree, and she knelt to examine them. They were frozen solid, caught by a sudden frost of the previous autumn that had never let up. But no snow had filtered in to betray the season. It was as though the time of harvest had been captured and held in suspension, preserved in the still cold forest. Wolf appeared beside her and pushed his muzzle into her ungloved hand. She rubbed the top of his head, noticed his steamy breath and then her own, and had a fleeting impression that their small company of travelers were the only things alive.
On the far side of the valley, the climb became precipitous and shimmery silver fir appeared, accented by stately deep green spruce. The long-needled pines became stunted with increasing elevation and finally disappeared, leaving the spruce and fir to march beside the Middle Mother.
As he rode, Jondalar’s thoughts kept returning to the Clan people they had met—he would never again be able to think about them as anything other than people. I need to convince my brother. Perhaps he could try to make contact with them—if he is still leader. When they stopped to rest and make some hot tea, Jondalar spoke his thoughts out loud.
“When we get home, I’m going to talk to Joharran about the Clan people, Ayla. If other people can trade with them, we could, too, and he should know that they are meeting with distant clans to discuss the troubles they are having with us,” Jondalar said. “It could mean trouble and I would not want to fight the likes of Guban.”
“I don’t think there is any hurry. It will take a long time for them to reach any decisions. Change is difficult for them,” Ayla said.
“What about trading—do you think they would be willing?”
“I think Guban would be more willing than most. He’s interested in knowing more about us, and he was willing to try the walking sticks, even if he wouldn’t ride the horses. Bringing home such an unusual woman from a faraway clan shows something about him, too. He was taking a chance, even if she is beautiful.”
“Do you think she is beautiful?”
“Don’t you?”
“I can see why Guban would think so,” Jondalar said.
“I guess what a man considers beautiful depends on who he is,” she said.
“Yes, and I think you are beautiful.”
Ayla smiled, making him all the more convinced of her beauty. “I’m glad you think so.”
“It is true, you know. Remember all the attention you got at the Mother Ceremony? Did I ever tell you how glad I was that you picked me?” he said, smiling at the memory.
She recalled something he had said to Guban. “Well, I belong to you, don’t I?” she said, then grinned. “It’s good that you don’t know Clan language too well. Guban would have seen that you were not speaking true when you said I was your mate.”
“No, he wouldn’t. We may not have had a Matrimonial yet, but in my heart, we are mated. It wasn’t a lie,” Jondalar said.
Ayla was moved. “I, too, feel that way,” she said softly, looking down because she wanted to