The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [69]
She reached for her sling, but it wasn’t at her waist. She hadn’t brought it. She had grown careless around her cave, depending on the fire to keep unwanted intruders away. But her fire was out, and a young horse was fair game for most predators.
Suddenly, from the mouth of the cave, she heard a loud whooping cackle. Whinney neighed, and it had a note of fear. The little horse was inside the stone chamber, and its only access was blocked by hyenas.
Hyenas! Ayla thought. There was something about the mad cackling sound of their laughter, their scruffy spotted fur, the way their backs sloped down from well-developed forelegs and shoulders to smaller hind legs giving them a cowering look, that irritated her. And she could never forget Oga’s scream as she watched, helpless, while her son was dragged away. This time they were after Whinney.
She didn’t have her sling, but that didn’t stop her. It wasn’t the first time she had acted without thinking of her own safety when someone else was threatened. She ran toward the cave, waving her fist and shouting.
“Get out of here! Get away!” They were verbal sounds, even in Clan language.
The animals scuttled off. Partly it was her assurance that made them back down, and, though the fire had gone out, its smell still lingered. But there was another element. Her scent was not commonly known to the beasts, but it was becoming familiar, and the last time it had been accompanied by hard-flung stones.
Ayla felt around inside the dark cave for her sling, angry with herself because she couldn’t remember where she had put it. That won’t happen again, she decided. I’m going to make a place for it and keep it there.
Instead, she gathered up her cooking stones—she knew where they were. When one bold hyena ventured close enough for his outline to be silhouetted in the cave opening, he discovered that, even without the sling, her aim was true, and the stones smarted. After a few more attempts, the hyenas decided the young horse wasn’t such easy game after all.
Ayla groped in the dark for more stones and found one of the sticks she had been notching to mark the passage of time. She spent the rest of the night beside Whinney, prepared to defend the foal with only a stick, if necessary.
Fighting off sleep proved to be more difficult. She dozed for a while just before dawn, but the first streak of morning light found her out on the ledge with sling in hand. No hyenas were in sight. She went back in for her fur wrap and foot coverings. The temperature had taken a decided drop. The wind had shifted during the night. Blowing from the northeast, it was funneled by the long valley until, baffled by the jutting wall and the bend in the river, it blasted into her cave in erratic bursts.
She ran down the steep path with her waterbag and shattered a thin transparent film which had formed at the edge of the stream. The air had that enigmatic smell of snow. As she broke through the clear crust and dipped out icy water, she wondered how it could be so cold when it had been so warm the day before. It had changed fast. She had been too comfortable in her routine. It took only a change in the weather to remind her that she couldn’t afford to become complacent.
Iza would have been upset with me for going to sleep without banking the fire. Now I’ll have to make a new one. I didn’t think the wind would be able to blow into my cave either; it always comes from the north. That might have helped the fire go out. I should have banked it, but driftwood burns so hot when it’s dry. It doesn’t hold a fire well. Maybe I should chop down some green trees. They’re harder to get started, but they burn slower. I should cut posts for a windscreen, too, and bring up more wood. Once it snows, it will be harder to get. I’ll get my hand-axe and chop the trees before I make a fire. I don’t want the wind to blow it out before I make a windscreen.
She picked up a few pieces of driftwood on