The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [29]
She looked at the cave again, then at the beautiful protected valley and the herd of horses far down the field, then back at the cave again. It’s a perfect cave for me, she said to herself. It would be a long time before I found one as good. And the valley. I could gather and hunt and store food. There’s water, and more than enough wood to last the winter, many winters. There’s even flint. And no wind. Everything I need is right here—except people.
I don’t know if I could stand it, being alone all winter. But it’s already so late in the season. I’m going to have to start soon to get enough food stored. If I haven’t found anyone yet, how do I know I will? How do I know they’d let me stay if I did find the Others. I don’t know them. Some of them are as bad as Broud. Look what happened to poor Oda. She said the men who forced her, like Broud forced me, were men of the Others. She said they looked like me. What if they are all like that? Ayla looked again at the cave, and then at the valley. She walked around the perimeter of the ledge, kicked a loose rock off the edge, stared off at the horses, then came to a decision.
“Horses,” she said. “I’m going to stay in your valley for a while. Next spring I can start looking for the Others again. Right now, if I don’t get ready for winter, I won’t be alive next spring.” Ayla’s speech to the horses was made with only few sounds, and those were clipped and guttural. She used sound only for names or to emphasize the rich, complex, and fully comprehensive language she spoke with the graceful flowing motions of her hands. It was the only language she remembered.
Once her decision was made, Ayla felt a sense of relief. She had dreaded the thought of leaving this pleasant valley and facing more grueling days of traveling the parched windy steppes, dreaded the thought of traveling any more at all. She raced down to the rocky beach and stooped to get her wrap and amulet. As she reached for the small leather pouch, she noticed the glitter of a small piece of ice.
How can there be ice in the middle of summer? she wondered, picking it up. It was not cold; it had hard precise edges and smooth flat planes. She turned it this way and that, watching its facets sparkling in the sun. Then she happened to turn it at just the right angle for the prism to separate the sunlight into the full spectrum of colors, and caught her breath at the rainbow she cast on the ground. Ayla had never seen a clear quartz crystal.
The crystal, like the flint and many of the other rocks on the beach, was an erratic—not native to the place. The gleaming stone had been torn from its birthplace by the even greater force of the element it resembled—ice—and moved by its melted form until it came to rest in the alluvial till of the glacial stream.
Suddenly, Ayla felt a chill colder than ice crawl up her spine, and sat down, too shaky to stand thinking of the stone’s meaning. She remembered something Creb had told her long ago, when she was a little girl …
It was winter, and old Dorv had been telling stories. She had wondered about the legend Dorv had just finished and asked Creb. It had led to an explanation of totems.
“Totems want a place to live. They would probably desert people who wandered homeless for very long. You wouldn’t want your totem to desert you, would you?”
Ayla reached for her amulet. “But my totem didn’t desert me even though I was alone and had no home.”
“That was because he was testing you. He found you a home, didn’t he? The Cave Lion is a strong totem, Ayla. He chose you, and he may decide to protect you always because he chose you—but all totems are happier with a home. If you pay attention to him, he will help you. He will tell you what is best.”
“How will I know, Creb?” Ayla asked. “I