The shelters of stone - Jean M. Auel [464]
Why should it bother him that some man looked at Ayla? Jondalar thought. Ranec was right, as beautiful as she was, he should expect it. And she had the right to make her own choice. Just because he was the first man of her kind she had met didn’t mean he would be the only one she would ever find attractive. Ayla saw him smile at Ranec, but noticed that the tension across his shoulders had not eased.
“Ranec always speaks lightly of it, though he isn’t in the habit of denying any of his other skills,” Talut was saying as he led the way to the unusual cave which seemed to be made of earth growing out of the bank. “He and Wymez are alike in that way, if not many others. Wymez is as reluctant to admit to his skill as a maker of tools as the son of his hearth is to speak of his carving. Ranec is the best carver of all the Mamutoi.”
“You have a skilled toolmaker? A flint knapper?” Jondalar asked with pleased expectation, his hot flash of jealousy gone with the thought of meeting another person knowledgeable in his craft.
“Yes, and he is the best, too. The Lion Camp is well known. We have the best carver, the best toolmaker, and the oldest Mamut,” the headman declared.
“And a headman big enough to make everyone agree, whether they believe it or not,” Ranec said, with a wry grin.
Talut grinned back, knowing Ranec’s tendency to turn aside praise of his carving skill with a quip. It didn’t stop Talut from bragging, however. He was proud of his Camp, and didn’t hesitate to let everyone know.
Ayla watched the subtle interaction of the two men—the older one a massive giant with flaming red hair and pale blue eyes, the other dark and compact—and understood the deep bond of affection and loyalty they shared though they were as different as any two men could be. They were both Mammoth Hunters, both members of the Lion Camp of the Mamutoi.
They walked toward the archway Ayla had noticed earlier. It seemed to open into a hillock or perhaps a series of them, tucked into the slope that faced the large river. Ayla had seen people enter and leave. She knew it must be a cave or a dwelling of some kind, but one which seemed to be made entirely of dirt; hard-packed but with grass growing in patches out of it, particularly around the bottom and up the sides. It blended into the background so well that, except for the entrance, it was hard to distinguish the dwelling from its surroundings.
On closer inspection she noticed that the rounded top of the mound was the repository of several curious implements and objects. Then she saw a particular one just above the archway, and caught her breath.
It was the skull of a cave lion!
Read on for an excerpt from
The Plains of Passage
Book Four in the Earth’s Children® Series
by Jean M. Auel
The woman caught a glimpse of movement through the dusty haze ahead and wondered if it was the wolf she had seen loping in front of them earlier.
She glanced at her companion with a worried frown, then looked for the wolf again, straining to see through the blowing dust.
“Jondalar! Look!” she said, pointing ahead.
Toward her left, the vague outlines of several conical tents could just be seen through the dry, gritty wind.
The wolf was stalking some two-legged creatures that had begun to materialize out of the dusty air, carrying spears aimed directly at them.
“I think we’ve reached the river, but I don’t think we’re the only ones who wanted to camp there, Ayla,” the man said, pulling on the lead rein to halt his horse.
The woman signaled her horse to a stop by tightening a thigh muscle, exerting a subtle pressure that was so reflexive she didn’t even think of it as controlling the animal.
Ayla heard a menacing growl from deep in the wolf’s throat