The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [156]
But for all the screaming and squealing, Whinney was not trying to reject her stallion, and, as she watched, Ayla felt strange stirrings within herself, sensations she could not explain. She could not tear her eyes away from the bay stallion, his front legs up on Whinney’s back, pumping, and straining, and screaming. She felt a warm wetness between her legs, a rhythmic pulsation in time to the stallion’s pounding, and an incomprehensible yearning. She was breathing hard, felt her heart reverberating in her head, and ached with longing for something she couldn’t describe.
Afterward, when the yellow horse willingly followed the bay, without so much as a backward look, Ayla felt an emptiness so heavy that she thought she could not bear it. She realized how fragile was the world she had built for herself in the valley, how ephemeral had been her happiness, how precarious her existence. She turned and ran back toward the valley. She ran until her breath tore her throat, until pain stabbed her side. She ran, hoping somehow, if she ran fast enough, she could leave behind all the heartache and loneliness.
She stumbled down the slope that led to the meadow, and rolled, and stayed where she stopped, gasping raggedly for breath. Even after she could breathe again, she didn’t move. She didn’t want to move. She didn’t want to cope, or try, or live. What was the use? She was cursed, wasn’t she?
Why can’t I just die then? Like I’m supposed to? Why do I have to lose everything I love? She felt a warm breath and a rasping tongue licking the salt from her cheek, and she opened her eyes to a huge cave lion.
“Oh, Baby!” she cried, reaching for him. He sprawled out beside her and, with claws retracted, put a heavy foreleg over her. She rolled over, hugged his furry neck, and buried her face in his lengthening mane.
When she finally cried herself out and tried to get up, she felt the result of her fall. Lacerated hands, skinned knees and elbows, a bruised hip and shin, and her right cheek was sore. She limped back to the cave. As she was treating her scrapes and bruises, she had a sobering thought. What if I’d broken a bone? That could be worse than dying, with no one to help.
I didn’t, though. If my totem wants to keep me alive, maybe he has a reason. Maybe the spirit of the Cave Lion sent Baby to me because he knew Whinney would leave someday.
Baby will leave, too. It won’t be long before he will want a mate. He will find one, even if he isn’t growing up in a regular pride. He’s going to be so big that he’ll be able to defend a big territory. And he’s a good hunter. He won’t go hungry while he’s looking for a pride, or at least one lioness.
She smiled wryly. You’d think I was a Clan mother worrying about her son growing up to be a big brave hunter. After all, he’s not my son. He’s just a lion, an ordinary … No, he’s not an ordinary cave lion. He is almost as big as some full-grown cave lions already, and he is an early hunter. But he will leave me.…
Durc must be big by now. Ura is growing, too. Oda will feel sad when Ura leaves to be Durc’s mate and live with Brun’s clan.… No, it’s Broud’s clan now. How long will it be until the next Clan Gathering?
She reached behind the bed for the bundle of marked sticks. She still made a notch every night. It was a habit, a ritual. She untied the bundle and laid them out on the ground, then tried to count the days since she had found her valley. She fitted her hands into the notches, but there were too many marks, too many days had passed. She had a feeling the marks ought to come together and add up in some way that would tell her how long she’d been there, but she didn’t know how. It was