The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [99]
“Is there something out there, Whinney?” Ayla asked, using sounds and signals, words not quite like any the Clan had ever used. She could make a soft nicker that was indistinguishable from the sound Whinney made. She could yip like a fox, howl like a wolf, and was quickly learning to whistle like almost any bird. Many of the sounds had become incorporated in her private language. She hardly thought about the Clan stricture against unnecessary sounds anymore. The normal facile ability of her kind to vocalize was asserting itself.
The horse moved in between the fire and Ayla, drawing security from both.
“Move over, Whinney. You’re blocking the heat.”
Ayla got up and added another stick of wood to the fire. She put an arm around the animal’s neck, sensing Whinney’s nervousness. I think I’ll stay up and keep the fire going, she thought. Whatever is over there is going to be a lot more interested in those reindeer than you, my friend, as long as you stay near the fire. But it might be a good idea to have a nice big fire for a while.
She hunkered down, stared at the flames, and watched sparks fly up to melt into the dark whenever she added another log. Sounds from across the river told her when a deer, or two, had fallen prey to something, probably something feline. Her thoughts turned to hunting a deer for herself. At one point, she pushed the horse aside to get more wood, and she suddenly got an idea. Later, after Whinney was more relaxed, Ayla returned to her sleeping fur, her thoughts whirling as the idea grew and expanded to other exciting possibilities. By the time she fell asleep, the major outlines of a plan had formed, using a concept so incredible that she smiled to herself at the audacity of it.
When she crossed the river in the morning, the herd of reindeer, smaller by one or two, had departed, but she was through following them. She urged Whinney to a gallop back to the valley. There was much to prepare if she was going to be ready in time.
“That’s it, Whinney. See, it’s not so heavy,” Ayla encouraged. The horse she was patiently guiding had an arrangement of leather straps and cords around her chest and back attached to a heavy log she was dragging. Originally, Ayla had put the weight-bearing thong across Whinney’s forehead, in a manner similar to the tumpline she sometimes used when she had a heavy load to carry. She quickly realized the horse needed to move her head freely and pulled better with her chest and shoulders. Still, the young steppe horse wasn’t accustomed to pulling a weight, and the harness inhibited her movements. But Ayla was determined. It was the only way her plan would work.
The idea had come to her when she was feeding the fire to fend off predators. She had shoved Whinney aside to get at the wood, thinking, with affection, of the full-grown horse who, with all her strength, had come to her for protection. A fleeting thought of wishing she were as strong had burst the next instant into a possible solution to the problem she had been turning over in her mind. Maybe the horse could haul a deer out of a pit trap.
Then she thought about processing the meat, and the novel concept grew. If she butchered the animal on the steppes, the smell of blood would draw the inevitable, and unknown, carnivores. Maybe it wasn’t a cave lion she had heard attacking the reindeer, but it was some cat. Tigers, panthers, and leopards might be only half the size of cave lions, but her sling was still no defense. She could kill a lynx, but the big cats were another matter, especially out in the open. But near her cave, with a wall at her back, she might be able to drive them away. A hard-flung stone might not be fatal, but they would feel it. If Whinney could drag a deer out of the trap, why not all the way back to the valley?
But first, she had to turn Whinney into a draft horse. Ayla thought she would only have to devise a way to attach ropes or thongs from the dead reindeer to the horse. It didn’t occur to her that the young mare might balk. Learning to ride had been such an unconscious process that she didn