The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [224]
“Jondalar give name colt?”
“Name the colt? You want me to name the colt?” He was unsure, and pleased. “I don’t know, Ayla. I’ve never thought about naming anything, much less a horse. How do you name a horse?”
Ayla understood his dismay. It had not been an idea she had accepted immediately. Names were fraught with significance; they gave recognition. Recognizing Whinney as a unique individual apart from the concept of horse had certain consequences. She was no longer just an animal of the herds who roamed the steppes. She associated with humans, drew her security from and gave her trust to a human. She was unique among her kind. She had a name.
But it imposed obligations on the woman. The comfort and well-being of the animal required considerable effort and concern. The horse could never be very far from her thoughts; their lives had become inextricably entwined.
Ayla had come to recognize the relationship, especially after Whinney’s return. Though it wasn’t planned or calculated, there was an element of that recognition in her desire to have Jondalar name the colt. She wanted him to stay with her. If he became attached to the young horse, it could be additional reason to stay where the colt would need to stay—at least for some time—in the valley with Whinney, and with her.
There was no need to rush the man, though. He wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while, not until his leg healed.
Ayla woke up with a start. The cave was dark. She lay on her back, peering into the dense unfocusable black, and tried to go back to sleep. Finally, she slipped quietly out of her bed—she had dug a shallow trench in the earth floor of the cave beside the bed now used by Jondalar—and felt her way to the cave mouth. She heard Whinney blow an acknowledgment of her presence as she passed by on her way out.
I let the fire go out again, she thought, walking along the wall to the edge. Jondalar isn’t as familiar with the cave as I am. If he needs to get up in the middle of the night, he should have more light.
When she was through, she stayed outside for a while. A quarter moon, setting in the west, was close to the lip of the wall above, across on the upstream side of the ledge, and would soon disappear behind it. It was closer to morning than middle of the night. Below was darkness except for the silvery shimmer of starshine reflected in the whispering stream.
The night sky made a barely perceptible shift from black to deep blue, but it was noticed at some unconscious level. Without knowing why, Ayla decided not to return to bed. She watched the moon deepen in color before the black edge of the opposite wall swallowed it. She felt an ominous shiver when the last glimmer of light was snuffed out.
Gradually the sky lightened, and the stars faded into the luminous blue. At the far end of the valley, the horizon was purple. She watched the sharply defined arc of a blood-red sun swell up from the edge of the earth and cast a lurid shaft of light into the valley.
“Must be a prairie fire to the east,” Jondalar said.
Ayla spun around. The man was bathed in the livid glow of the fiery orb, which turned his eyes to a shade of lavender never seen by firelight. “Yes, big fire, much smoke. I not know you up.”
“I’ve been awake for a while, hoping you’d come back. When you didn’t, I thought I might as well get up. The fire is out.”
“I know. I careless. Not make right to burn for night.”
“Bank, you didn’t bank it so it would not go out.”
“Bank,” she repeated. “I go start.”
He followed her back into the cave, ducking his head as he went through the entrance. It was apprehension more than necessity. The cave opening was high enough for him, but not by much. Ayla got out the iron pyrite and flint and gathered tinder and kindling.
“Didn’t you say you found that firestone on the beach? Are there more?”
“Yes. Not many. Water come, take.”
“A flood? The stream flooded and washed out some of the firestones? Maybe we should go and