The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [46]
The scene grew bazy, Creb was fading faster, was nearly gone, and she felt panicky. “Creb! Don’t go, please don’t go!” she called out. She scanned the landscape, searching desperately for him. Then she saw him at the top of the cliff, above his ancestor’s cave, near a large boulder, a long, slightly flattened column of rock that tilted over the edge, as though frozen in place as it was about to fall. She called out again, but he had faded into the rock. Ayla felt desolate; Creb was gone and she was alone, aching with sorrow, wishing she had something of his to remember, something to touch, to hold, but all she had was an overwhelming sorrow. Suddenly she was running, running as fast as she could; she had to get away, she had to get away.
“Ayla! Ayla! Wake up!” Jondalar said, shaking her.
“Jondalar,” she said, sitting up. Then, still feeling the desolation, she clung to him, as tears fell. “He’s gone … Oh, Jondalar.”
“It’s all right,” he said, holding her. “It must have been a terrible dream. You were shouting and crying. Do you think it would help if you told me?”
“It was Creb. I dreamt about Creb, and that time at the Clan Gathering when I went into the cave and those strange things happened. For a long time afterward, he was very upset with me. Then, just as we were finally getting back together, he died, before we could even talk very much. He told me Durc was the son of the Clan. I never was sure what he meant. There was so much I wish we could have talked about, so much I wish I could ask him now. Some people just thought of him as the powerful Mog-ur, and his missing eye and arm made him seem ugly and more frightening. But they didn’t know him. Creb was wise and kind. He understood the spirit world, but he understood people, too. I wanted to talk to him in my dream, and I think he was trying to talk to me.”
“Maybe he was. I never could understand dreams,” Jondalar said. “Are you feeling better?”
“I’m all right now,” Ayla said, “but I wish I knew more about dreams.”
“I don’t think you should go looking for that bear alone,” Ayla said after breakfast. “You’re the one who said a wounded bear could be dangerous.”
“I’ll be watchful.”
“If I go with you, both of us can be watchful, and staying at the campsite won’t be any safer. The bear could come back while you’re gone.”
“That’s true. All right, come along.”
They started into the woods, following the bear’s trail. Wolf decided to track the bear and plunged ahead through the underbrush, heading upstream. They had traveled less than a mile when they heard a commotion ahead, snarls and growls. Hurrying ahead, they found Wolf, his bristles raised, a low growl deep in his throat, but holding his head low and his tail between his legs, staying well back from a small pack of wolves who were standing guard over the dark brown carcass of the bear.
“At least we don’t have to worry about a dangerous wounded bear,” Ayla said, holding her spear and thrower ready.
“Just a pack of dangerous wolves.” He was also standing braced to hurl his spear. “Did you want some bear meat?”
“No, we have enough meat. I don’t have room for more. Let’s leave that bear to them.”
“I don’t care about the meat, but I wouldn’t mind having the claws and the big teeth,” Jondalar said.
“Why don’t you take them? They are yours by right. You killed the bear. I can chase the wolves away with my sling long enough for you to get them.”
Jondalar didn’t think it was something he would have tried by himself. The idea of driving a pack of wolves away from meat they had claimed as theirs seemed a dangerous thing to do, but he remembered her actions of the day before, chasing away the hyenas. “Go ahead,” he said, taking out his sharp knife.