The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [266]
“Burin, burin,” she said, getting used to the word.
After making a few more tools similar to ones he had made, he shook the lap cover over the edge and pulled the trough-shaped bowl closer. He took a long bone out and wiped it off, then turned the foreleg over in his hands, deciding where to start. Sitting down, he braced the bone against his foot, and, using the burin, he scratched a long line down the length of it. Then he etched a second line which joined the first at a point. A third short scratch connected the base of an elongated triangle.
He retraced the first line and brushed away a long curl of bone shavings, then continued tracing over the lines with the chisel point, each time cutting deeper into the bone. He retraced until he had cut through to the hollow center, and, going around one last time to make sure no small section was not free, he pressed down on the base. The long tip of the triangle flipped up and he lifted the piece out. He put it aside, then returned to the bone and etched another long line that made a point with one of the recently cut sides.
Ayla watched closely, not wanting to miss anything. But after the first times, it was repetition, and her thoughts wandered back to their breakfast conversation. Jondalar’s attitude had changed, she realized. It wasn’t any specific comment he had made, rather a shift in the tenor of his comments.
She remembered his saying, “Marthona would have liked your Iza,” and something about mothers being alike. His mother would have liked a flathead? They were alike? And later, even though he had been angry, he had referred to Broud as a man—a man who had opened the way for her to have a child. And he said he didn’t understand how those “people” could let it happen. He hadn’t noticed, and that pleased her more. He was thinking of the Clan as people. Not animals, not flatheads, not abominations—people!
Her attention was drawn back to the man when he changed his activities. He had picked up one of the bone triangles and a sharp-edged, strong flint scraper and begun smoothing the sharp edges of the bone, scraping off long curls. Before long he held up a round section of bone that tapered to a sharp point.
“Jondalar, are you making a … spear?”
He grinned. “Bone can be shaped to a sharp point like wood, but it’s stronger and doesn’t splinter, and bone is lightweight.”
“Isn’t that a very short spear?” she asked.
He laughed, a big hearty laugh. “It would be, if that was all there was to it. I’m just making points now. Some people make flint points. The Mamutoi do, especially for hunting mammoth. Flint is brittle and it breaks, but with knife-sharp edges a flint spear point will pierce a tough mammoth hide more easily. For most hunting, though, bone makes a better point. The shafts will be wood.”
“How do you put them together?”
“Look,” he said, turning the point around to show her the base. “I can split this end with a burin and a knife, then shape the end of the wooden shaft to fit inside the split.” He demonstrated by holding the forefinger of one hand between the thumb and forefinger of the other. “Then, I can add some glue or pitch, and wrap it tight with wet sinew or thong. When it dries and shrinks up, it will hold the two together.”
“That point is so small. The shaft will be a twig!”
“It will be more than a twig, but not as heavy as your spear. It can’t be, if you’re going to throw it.”
“Throw it! Throw a spear?”
“You throw stones with your sling, don’t you? You can do the same with a spear. You won’t have to dig pitfalls, and you can even make a kill on the run, once you develop the skill. As accurate as you are with that sling, I think you’ll learn fast.”
“Jondalar! Do you know how often I’ve wished I could hunt deer or bison with a sling? I never thought about throwing a spear.” She frowned. “Can you throw with enough force? I can throw much harder and farther with a sling than I can by hand.”
“You won’t have quite the force, but you still have the advantage of distance. You