The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [154]
Then the full import struck her. Baby, as young as he was, was a hunting lion! In the Clan, that would make him an adult. Just as she had been called the Woman Who Hunts before she was a woman, Baby had reached adulthood before he attained maturity. He should have a manhood ceremony, she thought. But what kind of ceremony would have meaning for him? Then she smiled.
She unbound the doe from the travois, then put the grass mat and the poles in the pack baskets. It was his kill, and he had a right to it. Baby didn’t understand at first. He paced back and forth from the carcass to her. Then, as Ayla left, he took the deer’s neck in his teeth and, pulling it underneath him, he dragged it all the way back to the beach, up the steep path, and into the cave.
She didn’t notice any difference, immediately, after Baby’s kill. They still hunted together. But more often than not, Whinney’s chase was only exercise and Ayla’s spear unnecessary. If she wanted some of the meat, she took it first; if she wanted the hide, she skinned it. Though, in the wild, the pride male always took the first and largest portion, Baby was still young. He’d never known hunger, as his growing size attested, and he was accustomed to her dominance.
But toward spring, Baby began leaving the cave more, exploring by himself. He was seldom gone long, but his excursions became more frequent. Once he came back with blood on his ear. She guessed he’d found other lions. It made her realize she was no longer enough; he was looking for his own kind. She cleaned the ear, and he spent the day following her so closely that he was getting in her way. At night, he crept up to her bed and searched for her two fingers to suck.
He’ll be leaving soon, she thought, wanting a pride of his own, mates to hunt for him, and cubs to dominate. He needs his own kind. Iza came to mind. You’re young, you need a man of your own, one of your own kind. Find your own people; find your own mate, she had said. It will be spring soon. I should think about leaving, but not yet. Baby was going to be huge, even for a cave lion. He already far exceeded lions his age in size, but he wasn’t grown; he couldn’t survive, yet.
Spring followed close on the heels of a heavy snow. Flooding kept them all restricted, Whinney more than the others. Ayla could climb to the steppes above, and Baby could leap there with ease, but the slopes was too steep for the horse. The water finally receded, the beach and the bone pile had new contours again, and Whinney could finally go down the path to the meadow once more. But she was irritable.
Ayla first noticed something out of the ordinary when Baby yelped from an equine kick. The woman was surprised. Whinney had never been impatient with the young lion; perhaps a nip now and then to keep him in line, but certainly not enough to kick him. She thought the unusual behavior was a consequence of her enforced inactivity, but Baby tended to stay away from her place in the cave as he got older, sensitive of Whinney’s territory, and Ayla wondered what had drawn him there. She went to see, then became conscious of a strong odor she’d been vaguely aware of all morning. Whinney was standing with her head down, her hind legs spread apart, and her tail held to the left. Her vaginal opening was swollen and pulsating. She looked up at Ayla and squealed.
The series of emotions that came over Ayla in quick succession pulled her to opposite extremes. First it was relief. So that’s your problem. Ayla knew about estrus cycles in animals. In some, the time of pairing occurred more frequently, but for grazers, once a year was usual. This was the season when males often fought for the right to couple, and it was the one time when the males and females mingled, even those who normally hunted separately or herded in different groups.
Pairing season was one of those mysterious aspects of animal behavior that puzzled