The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [202]
She went to see how Whinney was doing with her new foal, then walked outside. She felt drained as well, yet relieved. At the far end of the ledge, she looked down the valley and remembered her anxious ride with the man on the travois, her fervent hope that he would not die. The thought made her nervous; more than ever she felt the man must live. She hurried back into the cave and reassured herself that he still breathed. She brought the cold soup back to the fire—he had needed other sustenance more—made sure the medicinal preparations were ready for him when he woke, and then sat quietly beside him on the fur.
She could not get enough of looking at him, and she studied his face as though she were trying to satisfy all at one time her years of yearning for the sight of another human. Now that some of the strangeness was wearing off, she saw his face as more of a whole, not just as the individual features. She wanted to touch it, to run her finger along his jaw and chin, to feel his light smooth eyebrows. Then it struck her.
His eyes had watered! She had wiped wetness from his face; her shoulder was still damp from it. It’s not just me, she thought. Creb could never understand why my eyes watered when I was sad—no one else’s did. He thought my eyes were weak. But the man’s eyes watered when he grieved. The eyes of all the Others must water.
Ayla’s all-night vigil and intense emotional reactions finally caught up with her. She fell asleep on the fur beside him though it was still afternoon. Jondalar woke up toward dusk. He was thirsty and looked for something to drink, unwilling to wake the woman. He heard the sounds of the horse and her newborn, but could only make out the yellow coat of the mare, who was lying down near the wall on the other side of the cave entrance.
He looked at the woman then. She was on her back, facing the other way. He could see only the line of her neck and jaw, and the shape of her nose. He remembered his emotional outbreak and felt a little embarrassed, then remembered the reason for it. His pain drove out all other feelings. He could feel his eyes filling and closed them tightly. He tried not to think about Thonolan; he tried not to think about anything. Soon, he succeeded, and didn’t wake again until the middle of the night, and then his moans woke Ayla as well.
It was dark; the fire was out. Ayla felt her way to the fireplace, got tinder and kindling from the place she kept her supply, then the firestone and flint.
Jondalar’s fever was up again, but he was awake. He thought he must have dozed off, though. He couldn’t believe the woman had made a fire so fast. He hadn’t even seen the glow of coals when he awakened.
She brought the man cold willowbark tea she had made earlier. He raised himself on one elbow to reach for the cup, and, though it was bitter, he drank for his thirst. He recognized the taste—everyone seemed to know the use of willowbark—but he wished for a drink of plain water. He was feeling an urge to urinate as well, but he didn’t know how to communicate either need. He picked up the cup which had held the willowbark tea, turned it over to show it was empty, then brought it to his lips.
She understood immediately, brought a waterbag, filled his cup, and then left it beside him. The water assuaged his thirst, but it added to his other problem, and he began to squirm uncomfortably. His actions made the young woman aware of his need. She picked a stick of wood out of the fire for a torch and went to the storage section of the cave. She wanted a container of some sort, but once there found some other useful items.
She had made stone lamps, nicking a shallow well into a stone that would hold melted fat and a moss wick, though she hadn’t used them much. Her fire usually provided sufficient light. She picked up a lamp, found the moss wicks, then looked for the bladders of congealed fat. When she saw