The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [276]
Ayla and Jondalar ran toward the kill from opposite directions. Suddenly he started shouting and waving his arms at her. She shook her head, not understanding his signals.
A young bull, who had been playing at butting, had finally elicited a response from the old patriarch and dodged away, running into a nervous cow. The young male moved back, indecisive and agitated, but his evasive action was cut off by the big bull. He didn’t know which way to turn until his attention was caught by a moving bipedal figure. He lowered his head and ran toward it.
“Ayla! Look out!” Jondalar shouted, running toward her. He had a spear in his hand and pointed it.
Ayla turned and saw the young bull coming at her. Her first thought was her sling, an almost instinctive reaction. It had always been her immediate means of defense. But she dismissed it quickly and slapped a spear into her thrower.
Jondalar launched his spear by hand a moment before her, but the spear thrower imparted greater speed. Jondalar’s weapon found a flank, which turned the bison momentarily. When he looked, Ayla’s spear, still quivering, was lodged in the young bull’s eye; the animal was dead before he fell.
The running, shouting, and new source of blood smell started the aimlessly milling animals in a concerted direction—away from the disturbing activity. The last stragglers bypassed their fallen members to join the herd in a ground-shaking stampede. The rumble could still be heard after the dust settled.
The man and woman were struck dumb for a moment as they stood looking at the two dead bison on the empty plain.
“It’s over,” Ayla said, stunned. “Just like that.”
“Why didn’t you run?” Jondalar shouted, giving in to his fear for her now that it was over. He strode toward her. “You could’ve been killed!”
“I couldn’t turn my back on a charging bull,” Ayla countered. “He would have gored me for sure.” She looked again at the bison. “No, I think your spear would have stopped him … but I didn’t know that. I never hunted with anyone before. I always had to watch out for myself. If I didn’t, no one would have.”
Her words jogged a final piece into place, and suddenly a picture came together of what her life must have been. He saw her in a new way. This woman, he thought, this gentle, caring, loving woman, has survived more than anyone would believe. No, she could not run away, not from anything, not even from you. Whenever you let yourself go, Jondalar, and lost control, people backed off. But at your worst, she stood her ground.
“Ayla, you beautiful, wild, wonderful woman, look what a hunter you are!” He smiled. “Look what we’ve done! Two of them. How are we going to get them both back?”
As the full significance of their achievement filled her, she smiled, with satisfaction, triumph, and joy. It made Jondalar aware that he had not seen that smile often enough. She was beautiful, but when she smiled like that, she glowed, as though a fire was lit from within. A laugh rose up in him unexpectedly—uninhibited and infectious. She joined him; she couldn’t help it. It was their shout of victory, of success.
“Look what a hunter you are, Jondalar,” she said.
“It’s the spear throwers—they made the difference. We walked into this herd, and before they knew what happened … two of them! Think what that can mean!”
She knew what it would mean to her. With the new weapon she would always be able to hunt for herself. Summer. Winter. No pit traps to dig. She could travel and hunt. The spear thrower had all the advantages of her sling, and so many more.
“I know what it means. You said you would show me a better way to hunt, an easier way. You did, more than I imagined. I don’t know how to tell you … I am so