The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [225]
Ayla nodded absently. She had other plans for the day, but she wanted Jondalar’s help and didn’t know how to bring it up. She was running low on meat, and she didn’t know if he would object to her hunting. She had occasionally gone out with her sling, and he had not questioned where the jerboas, hares, and giant hamsters came from. But even the men of the Clan had allowed her to hunt small game with her sling. She needed to hunt larger game, though, and that meant going out with Whinney and digging a pit trap.
She wasn’t looking forward to it. She would have preferred hunting with Baby, but he was gone. The absence of her hunting partner was the least of her worries, however. Jondalar concerned her more. She knew that, even if he objected, he couldn’t stop her. It wasn’t as though she were part of his clan—this was her cave, and he wasn’t fully recovered. But he seemed to enjoy the valley, Whinney, and the colt; he even seemed to like her. She didn’t want that to change. It had been her experience that men did not like women to hunt, but she had no choice.
And she wanted more than his acquiescence—she wanted his support, his help. She did not want to take the foal hunting. She was afraid he might get caught in the stampede and be hurt. He’d stay behind when she left with Whinney, if Jondalar would keep him company, she was sure. She wouldn’t be gone long. She could scout a herd, dig a trap, and return, then hunt the next day. But how could she ask the man to keep a foal company while she hunted? Even if he himself wasn’t able to hunt yet?
When she made a broth for the morning meal, a good look at her dwindling supply of dried meat convinced her something had to be done soon. She decided the way to begin was to expose her hunting proclivities in a small way first, by showing him her skill with her favorite weapon. His reaction to her sling hunting would give her some idea if it would be worthwhile to ask his help.
They had formed the habit of walking together in the morning alongside the brush lining the stream. It was good exercise for him, and she enjoyed it. On that morning, she tucked her sling in her waist thong when they left. All she would need was the cooperation of some creature willing to come within range.
Her hopes were more than fulfilled when a walk into the field away from the stream flushed a pair of willow grouse. She reached for sling and stones when she saw one. As she knocked the first out of the sky, the second took to wing, but her second stone brought it down. Before she retrieved them, she glanced at Jondalar. She saw astonishment, but more important, she saw a smile.
“That was amazing, woman! Is that how you’ve been catching those animals? I thought you had snares set. What is that weapon?”
She gave him the leather strap with a bulge in the middle, then went to get the birds.
“I think this is called a sling,” he said when she returned. “Willomar told me about a weapon like this. I couldn’t quite imagine what he was talking about, but this must be it. You’re good with it, Ayla. That had to take a lot of practice, even with some natural ability.”
“You like I hunt?”
“If you didn’t hunt, who would?”
“Clan man not like woman hunt.”
Jondalar studied her. She was anxious, worried. Perhaps the men didn’t like women who hunted, but it hadn’t stopped her from learning. Why had she chosen this day to demonstrate her skill? Why did he feel she was looking for approval from him?
“Most Zelandonii women hunt, at least when they’re young. My mother was noted for her tracking skill. I don’t see any reason why women shouldn’t, if they want. I like women who hunt, Ayla.”
He could see her tension evaporate; he had obviously said what she wanted to hear, and it was the truth. He wondered, though, why it was so important to her.
“I need go hunt,” she said. “Need help.”
“I’d like to, but I don’t think I’m up to it yet.”
“Not help hunt. I take Whinney, you keep colt?”
“So that’s it,” he said. “You want me to mind the colt while you go hunting with the mare?” He chuckled.