The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [241]
The morning had started well. Jondalar had insisted on helping her pick grain, and he had amazed her with the speed at which he learned. She was sure picking grain was not a skill he had acquired before, but once she showed him, he picked quickly. It was more than the extra pair of hands that helped, though. It was the company. Whether they talked or not, having someone near made her realize how much she had missed it.
Then there was a small disagreement. Nothing serious. She wanted to keep picking and he wanted to quit when the waterbag ran out. But when she returned from the stream and understood he wanted to try horse riding, she thought it might be a way to keep him there with her. He liked the colt, and if he liked riding he might want to stay until the colt was grown. When she offered, he had jumped at the chance.
It had put them both in such a good mood. That’s what started the laughter. She had not laughed like that since Baby left. She loved Jondalar’s laugh—just hearing it warmed her.
Then he touched me, she thought. No one in the Clan touches like that, at least not outside the boundary stones. Who knows what a man and his mate might do at night, under furs. Maybe they touch the way he touches. Do all the Others touch like that outside the hearth? I liked it when he touched me. Why did he run away?
Ayla had wanted to die with shame, sure she was the ugliest woman on earth, when he relieved himself. Then, in the cave, when he said he wanted her, that he didn’t think she wanted him, she almost cried with happiness. The way he looked at her, she could feel the warmth starting inside, the wanting, drawing-in feeling. He was so angry when she told him about Broud that she was sure he liked her. Maybe the next time he was ready …
But she would never forget the way he looked at her, like some disgusting piece of rotten flesh. He even shuddered.
Iza and Creb are not animals! They are people. People who took care of me and loved me. Why does he hate them? This was their land first. His kind came later … my kind. Is that what my kind are like?
I’m glad I left Durc with the Clan. They might think he is deformed, Broud might hate him because he is my son, but my baby will not be some animal … some abomination. That was the word he said. He doesn’t have to explain it.
Tears started again. My baby, my son … He is not deformed—he is healthy and strong. And he is not an animal, not … abomination.
How could he change so fast? He was looking at me, with his blue eyes, he was looking.… Then he pulled away as though I would burn him, or as if I were an evil spirit whose name only mog-urs know. It was worse than a death curse. They only turned away and didn’t see me anymore. I was just dead and belonged to the next world. They didn’t look at me as if I were … abomination.
The setting sun brought the chill of evening. Even during the hottest part of the summer, the steppes were cold at night. She shivered in her summer wrap. If I had thought to bring a tent and a fur … No, Whinney would get anxious for the colt, and she needs to nurse.
When Ayla got up from the bank of the stream, Whinney raised her head from the lush grass, trotted to her, and flushed a pair of ptarmigan. Ayla’s reaction was almost instinctive. She pulled the sling from her waist and stooped to pick up pebbles in one motion. The birds had barely lifted off the ground before one, and then the other, plummeted back. She retrieved them, searched for the nest, and then stopped.
Why am I looking for the eggs? Am I going to make Creb’s favorite dish for Jondalar? Why should I cook anything for him, especially Creb’s favorite? But when she spied the nest—hardly more than a depression scratched out of the hard ground containing a clutch of seven eggs—she shrugged and collected