The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [302]
“You are strong, self-reliant, entirely able to take care of yourself and of me: yet you would sit at my feet—if I’d let you—with no shame, no resentment, as easily as I would honor Doni. You are fearless, courageous; you saved my life, nursed me back to health, hunted for my food, provided for my comfort. You don’t need me. Yet you make me want to protect you, watch over you, make sure no harm comes to you.
“I could live with you all my life and never really know you; you have depths it would take many lifetimes to explore. You are wise and ancient as the Mother, and as fresh and young as a woman at First Rites. And you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I can’t believe how lucky I am to get so much. I didn’t think I was able to love anyone; now I know I was only waiting for you. I didn’t think it was possible for me to love, Ayla, and I love you more than life itself.”
Ayla had tears in her eyes. He kissed both eyelids, and he held her close, as though he was afraid he might lose her.
When they woke up the next morning, there was a thin layer of snow on the ground. They let the tent opening fall back and snuggled into the sleeping furs, but they both felt a sense of sadness.
“It’s time to turn back, Jondalar.”
“I suppose you’re right,” he said, watching his breath rise in a slight puff of steam “It’s still early in the season. We shouldn’t run into any bad storms.”
“You never know; the weather can surprise you.”
They finally got up and started breaking camp. Ayla’s sling brought down a great jerboa emerging from its subterranean nest in rapid bipedal jumps. She picked it up by a tail that was nearly twice as long as its body, and slung it over her back by hooflike hind claws. At the campsite, she quickly skinned and spitted it.
“I’m sad to be going back,” Ayla said, while Jondalar built up the fire. “It has been … fun. Just traveling, stopping where we wanted. Not worrying about bringing anything back. Making camp at noon just because we wanted to swim, or have Pleasures. I’m glad you thought of it.”
“I’m sad it’s over, too, Ayla. It’s been a good trip.”
He got up to get more wood, walking down toward the river. Ayla helped him. They rounded a bend and found a pile of rotted deadfall. Suddenly, Ayla heard a sound. She looked up and reached for Jondalar.
“Heyooo!” a voice called.
A small group of people were walking toward them, waving. Ayla clung to Jondalar; his arm was around her, protective, reassuring.
“It’s all right, Ayla. They’re Mamutoi. Did I ever tell you they call themselves the mammoth hunters? They think we are Mamutoi, too,” Jondalar said.
As the group neared, Ayla turned to Jondalar, her face full of surprise and wonder. “Those people, Jondalar, they are smiling,” she said. “They are smiling at me.”
Turn the page to read an exciting preview
from Jean M. Auel’s latest novel—
The Land of Painted Caves
Available spring 2011 from Crown Publishers
1
The band of travelers walked along the path between the clear sparkling water of Grass River and the black-streaked white limestone cliff, following the trail that paralleled the right bank. They went single file around the bend where the stone wall jutted out closer to the water’s edge. Ahead a smaller path split off at an angle toward the crossing place, where the flowing water spread out and became shallower, bubbling around exposed rocks.
Before they reached the fork in the trail, a young woman near the front suddenly stopped, her eyes opening wide as she stood perfectly still, staring ahead. She pointed with her chin, not wanting to move. “Look! Over there!” she said in a hissing whisper of fear. “Lions!”
Joharran, the leader, lifted his arm, signaling the band to a halt. Just beyond the place where the trail diverged, they now saw