The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [175]
“I see it!” Thonolan cried. “A little more to the right, Jondalar. See? On that outcrop.”
The tall man shifted his gaze and saw the small, graceful chamois poised on the precipice. Its thick black winter coat still clung in patches on the flanks, but the beige-gray summer pelt blended into the rock. Two small horns rose straight up from the forehead of the goatlike antelope, curving back only at the tips.
“I see him now,” Jondalar said.
“That may not be a ‘him.’ Females have horns, too,” Dolando corrected.
“They do resemble ibex, don’t they, Thonolan? They’re smaller—horns, too. But from a distance …”
“How do the Zelandonii hunt ibex, Jondalar?” a young woman asked, her eyes glistening with curiosity, excitement, and love.
She was only a few years older than Darvo and had developed an adolescent infatuation with the tall blond man. She had been born Shamudoi, but had grown up on the river when her mother mated a second time to a Ramudoi, and had moved back up when the relationship came to a stormy end. She hadn’t grown accustomed to the mountain crags as most Shamudoi youngsters did and hadn’t shown an inclination to hunt chamois until recently, after she discovered Jondalar’s strong feeling of approval for women who hunted. To her surprise, she found it exciting.
“I don’t know much about it, Rakario,” Jondalar replied, smiling gently. He had seen the signs in young women before, and though he couldn’t help but respond to her attention, he didn’t want to encourage her. “There were ibex in the mountains south of us, and more in the eastern ranges, but we didn’t hunt the mountains. They were too far. Occasionally a group would get together at the Summer Meeting and arrange a hunting party. But I just went along for the fun, and I followed the directions of the hunters who knew how. I’m still learning, Rakario. Dolando is the expert hunter of mountain animals.”
The chamois leaped from the precipice to a pinnacle, then calmly surveyed the view from its new vantage.
“How do you hunt an animal that can jump like that?” Rakario breathed with hushed wonder at the effortless grace of the sure-footed creature. “How can they hold on to such a small place?”
“When we get one, Rakario, take a look at the hooves,” Dolando said. “Only the outer edge is hard. The inner part is flexible, like the palm of your hand. That’s why they don’t slide or lose their footing. The soft part grips, the outer edge holds. To hunt them, it’s most important to remember that they always look down. They always watch where they’re going, and they know what is below them. Their eyes are far back on the sides of their head, so they can see around to the side, but they can’t see up behind them. That’s your advantage. If you move up around them, you can get them from behind. You can get close enough to touch them, if you’re careful and don’t lose patience.”
“What if they move before you get there?” she asked.
“Look up there. See the tinge of green on the pastures? That spring grass is a real treat after winter forage. The one up there is a lookout. The rest of them—males, females, and kids—are down among rocks and bushes staying out of sight. If the grazing is good, they won’t move much, as long as they feel safe.”
“Why are we standing around here talking? Let’s go,” Darvo said.
He was annoyed at Rakario for hanging around Jondalar all the time and impatient to begin the hunt. He’d accompanied the hunters before—Jondalar always took him along when he started hunting with the Shamudoi—though only to track, watch, and learn. This time he had been given permission to try for the kill. If he succeeded, it would be a first kill for him, and he would be the recipient of special attention. But no extraordinary pressures were imposed on him. He did not have to make the kill this time; there would be other times to try. Hunting such agile prey, in an environment to which they were