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The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [58]

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them with her memory of similar trees that grew near the cave where she had lived as a child. The bark was smooth and gray, and the leaves were oval narrowing to a point at the end with shallow sharp teeth around the edge, and silky white underneath. The small brown nuts encased in their bristly husk, were not yet ripe, but the mast of nuts and shells on the ground from last season showed the plentiful yield. She recalled that beechnuts were hard to crack. The trees were not as large as the ones she remembered, but respectable. Then she noticed the unusual plants growing under the trees and knelt down to take a closer look.

“Are you going to collect those?” Jondalar asked. “They look dead. There’re no leaves on them.”

“They aren’t dead. That’s how they grow. Here, feel how fresh it is,” Ayla said, breaking off the upper few inches of the foot-high, smooth, leafless stem with slender branches the whole length of it. The entire plant was a dull reddish color, including the flower buds, without a hint of green.

“They grow from the roots of other plants,” Ayla said, “like the one Iza used to put on my eyes when I cried, except those were white, and kind of shiny. Some people were afraid of them because they thought their color looked like the skin of a dead person. They were even named…”—she thought for a moment—“something like dead man’s plant, or corpse plant.”

She stared into space as she remembered. “Iza thought my eyes were weak because they watered, and it bothered her.” Ayla smiled at the thought. “She’d get a fresh one of those white corpse plants and squeeze the juice right out of the stem into my eyes. If they were sore from crying too much, it always made them feel better.” She was silent for a time, then shook her head slightly. “I’m not sure if these are good for eyes. Iza used them for little cuts and bruises, and for certain growths.”

“What are they called?”

“I think her name for them would be … what is your name for this tree, Jondalar?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t think they grow near my home, but the Sharamudoi name is ‘beech.’ ”

“Then I think these would be called ‘beechdrops,’ ” she said, getting up and brushing her hands together to dust them off.

Suddenly Wolf froze, his nose pointed toward the deep woods. Jondalar noticed his stalking posture and, remembering how Wolf had scented the bear, reached for a spear. He laid it on top of the groove in his spear-thrower, a shaped piece of wood about half the length of a spear, which was held in a horizontal position with his right hand. He fitted the hollow at the butt of the spear into the notch at the back of the thrower. Then he put his fingers through the two loops near the front of the throwing weapon, which reached a place just short of the middle of the spear, to hold the shaft in place as it rested on top of his spear-thrower. It was done quickly with a smooth motion, and he stood with knees slightly flexed, ready to cast. Ayla had reached for stones and was ready with her sling, wishing she had brought her spear-thrower, too.

Moving through the sparse undergrowth, Wolf made a dash toward a tree. There was a scurry of movement in the beechnut mast, then a small animal raced straight up the smooth trunk. Standing up on his hind legs, as though he was trying to climb the tree as well, Wolf yelped after the furry creature.

Suddenly a commotion up in the branches of the tree attracted their attention. They caught sight of the rich sable-brown coat and long sinuous shape of a beech marten chasing after the loudly cluttering squirrel, who thought it had just escaped up the tree. Wolf wasn’t the only one who thought the squirrel was worthy of interest, but the large weasellike animal, a foot and a half in length with a bushy tail that added another twelve inches to its dimensions, had a much better chance of success. Racing through the high branches, it was as nimble and fleet as its intended prey.

“I think that squirrel jumped out of the cooking skin into the coals,” Jondalar said, watching the drama unfold.

“Maybe he’ll get away,” Ayla said.

“It’s

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