The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [270]
“Well, Racer, shall we go to the cave to wait for them?”
He laid the spears down outside the entrance to the small break in the canyon wall, then went in. He was restless and didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He stirred the fire, brought the coals together, and added a few sticks, then went out to the front edge of the shelf and looked down the valley. The colt’s muzzle reached for his hand, and he absently caressed the shaggy young horse. As he pulled his fingers through the animal’s thickening coat, he thought of winter.
He tried to think of something else. The warm summer days had an unending quality, one so like the next that time seemed held in suspension. Decisions were easy to put off. Tomorrow was soon enough to think about the coming cold … to think about leaving. He noticed the simple breech-clout he wore.
“I don’t grow a winter coat like you, little fellow. I ought to make myself something warm soon. I gave that sewing awl to Ayla and never made another one. Maybe that’s what I should do—make a few more tools. And I need to think of a way to keep you from getting hurt.”
He went back into the cave, stepped over his sleeping furs, and cast a longing look at Ayla’s side of the fireplace. He rummaged through the storage area for some thong or heavy cordage and found some skins that had been rolled up and put away. That woman certainly knows how to finish skins, he thought, feeling the velvety soft texture. Maybe she’d let me use some of these. I hate to ask her, though.
If those spear throwers work, I should get enough hides to make something to wear. Maybe I could carve a charm on them for good luck. It wouldn’t hurt. Here’s a coil of thong. Maybe I can make something for Racer out of this. He’s such a runner—wait until he’s a stallion. Would a stallion let someone ride on his back? Could I make him go where I wanted him to?
You’ll never know. You won’t be here when he’s a stallion. You’re leaving.
Jondalar picked up the coiled thong, stopped off to get his bundle of flint-knapping tools, and went down the path to the beach. The stream looked inviting, and he felt hot and sweaty. He took off his breechclout and waded in, then started pulling upstream, against the current. He usually turned back when he reached the narrow gorge. This time he decided to explore further. He made it past the first rapids and around the last bend, and saw a roaring wall of white water. Then he headed back.
The swim invigorated him, and the feeling that he had made a discovery encouraged a desire for change. He pulled his hair back, squeezed it out, and then his beard. You’ve worn this all summer, Jondalar, and it’s almost over. Don’t you think it’s time?
First I’ll shave, then make something to keep Racer out of the way. I don’t want to just put a rope around his neck. Then I’ll make an awl, and a burin or two so I can carve a charm on the throwers. And I think I’ll make the meal tonight. A man could forget how around Ayla. I may not be up to her standards, but I think I can still put a meal together. Mother knows, I did it often enough on the Journey.
What kind of carvings should I put on the spear throwers? A donii would bring the best luck, but I gave mine to Noria. I wonder if she ever had a baby with blue eyes? That certainly is a strange idea Ayla has, about a man making a baby start. Who would have thought that was what that old Haduma wanted. First Rites. Ayla’s never had First Rites. She’s been through so much, and she’s a wonder with that sling. Not bad with a spear thrower either. I think I’ll put a bison on hers. Will they really work? Wish I had a donii. Maybe I could make one …
Jondalar started watching for Ayla from the ledge as the evening sky darkened. When the valley became a black bottomless pit, he built a fire on the ledge so she could find her way, and he kept thinking he heard her coming up the path. Finally he made a torch and headed down. He followed the edge of the stream around the jutting