The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [226]
Her smile was one of relief. He didn’t mind, he really didn’t seem to mind.
“You might investigate that fire to the east before you plan your hunt, though. One that big can do your hunting for you.”
“Fire hunt?” she said.
“Whole herds have been known to die from the smoke alone. Sometimes you’ll find your meat cooked! Storytellers have a funny fable about a man finding cooked meat after a prairie fire, and the problems he had trying to convince the rest of his Cave to try meat he burned on purpose. It’s an old story.”
A smile of comprehension crossed her face. A fast-raging fire could overcome a whole herd. I might not have to dig a pit after all.
When Ayla got out the basket-harness-travois arrangement, Jondalar was intrigued, not able to understand the purpose of the complicated equipment.
“Whinney take meat to cave,” she explained, showing him the travois while adjusting the straps on the mare. “Whinney take you to cave,” she added.
“So that’s how I got here! I’ve been wondering for a long time. I didn’t think you carried me here alone. I thought perhaps some other people found me and left me here with you.”
“No … other people. I find … you … other man.”
Jondalar’s expression became strained and bleak. The reference to Thonolan caught him by surprise, and the pain of his loss gripped him. “Did you have to leave him there? Couldn’t you have brought him, too?” he flung at her.
“Man dead, Jondalar. You hurt. Much hurt,” she said, feeling frustration well up inside her. She wanted to tell him she had buried the man, that she sorrowed for him, but she could not communicate. She could exchange information, but she could not explore ideas. She wanted to speak to him of thoughts she wasn’t even sure could be expressed in words, but she felt stifled. He had spent his grief on her the first day, and now she couldn’t even share his sorrow.
She longed for his ease with words, his ability to marshal them spontaneously into the proper order, his freedom of expression. But there was a vague barrier she couldn’t cross, a lack that she often felt on the verge of breaching, which eluded her. Intuition told her she ought to know—that the knowledge was locked inside her, if only she could find the key.
“I’m sorry, Ayla. I shouldn’t have shouted at you like that, but Thonolan was my brother.…” The word was almost a cry.
“Brother. You and other man … have same mother?”
“Yes, we had the same mother.”
She nodded and turned back to the horse, wishing she could tell him she understood the closeness of siblings and the special tie that could exist between two men born of the same mother. Creb and Brun had been brothers.
She finished loading the pack baskets, then picked up her spears to carry them outside to load after they were through the low cave opening. As he watched her making final preparations, he began to see that the horse was more than a strange companion to the woman. The animal gave her a decided advantage. He hadn’t realized how useful a horse could be. But he was puzzled by another set of contradictions she posed: she used a horse to help her hunt and to carry back the meat—an advancement he’d never heard of before—yet she used a spear more primitive than any he’d seen.
He had hunted with many people, and each group had its own variation of hunting spear, but none was as radically different as hers. Yet there was something familiar about it. Its point was sharp and fire-hardened, and the shaft was straight and smooth, but it was so clumsy. There was no question that it was not meant to be thrown; it was larger than the one he used to hunt rhino. How did she hunt with it? How could she get close enough to wield it? When she came back, he’d have to ask her. It would take too much time now. She was learning the language, but it was still difficult.
He led the colt into the cave before Ayla