The Valley of Horses (Earth's Children 2)

Ayla smiled, pleased at the attachment developing between the man and Whinney’s foal. She recalled an idea she’d had, and spontaneously mentioned it.

“Jondalar give name colt?”

“Name the colt? You want me to name the colt?” He was unsure, and pleased. “I don’t know, Ayla. I’ve never thought about naming anything, much less a horse. How do you name a horse?”

Ayla understood his dismay. It had not been an idea she had accepted immediately. Names were fraught with significance; they gave recognition. Recognizing Whinney as a unique individual apart from the concept of horse had certain consequences. She was no longer just an animal of the herds who roamed the steppes. She associated with humans, drew her security from and gave her trust to a human. She was unique among her kind. She had a name.

But it imposed obligations on the woman. The comfort and well-being of the animal required considerable effort and concern. The horse could never be very far from her thoughts; their lives had become inextricably entwined.

Ayla had come to recognize the relationship, especially after Whinney’s return. Though it wasn’t planned or calculated, there was an element of that recognition in her desire to have Jondalar name the colt. She wanted him to stay with her. If he became attached to the young horse, it could be additional reason to stay where the colt would need to stay—at least for some time—in the valley with Whinney, and with her.

There was no need to rush the man, though. He wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while, not until his leg healed.

Ayla woke up with a start. The cave was dark. She lay on her back, peering into the dense unfocusable black, and tried to go back to sleep. Finally, she slipped quietly out of her bed—she had dug a shallow trench in the earth floor of the cave beside the bed now used by Jondalar—and felt her way to the cave mouth. She heard Whinney blow an acknowledgment of her presence as she passed by on her way out.

I let the fire go out again, she thought, walking along the wall to the edge. Jondalar isn’t as familiar with the cave as I am. If he needs to get up in the middle of the night, he should have more light.

When she was through, she stayed outside for a while. A quarter moon, setting in the west, was close to the lip of the wall above, across on the upstream side of the ledge, and would soon disappear behind it. It was closer to morning than middle of the night. Below was darkness except for the silvery shimmer of starshine reflected in the whispering stream.

The night sky made a barely perceptible shift from black to deep blue, but it was noticed at some unconscious level. Without knowing why, Ayla decided not to return to bed. She watched the moon deepen in color before the black edge of the opposite wall swallowed it. She felt an ominous shiver when the last glimmer of light was snuffed out.

Gradually the sky lightened, and the stars faded into the luminous blue. At the far end of the valley, the horizon was purple. She watched the sharply defined arc of a blood-red sun swell up from the edge of the earth and cast a lurid shaft of light into the valley.

“Must be a prairie fire to the east,” Jondalar said.

Ayla spun around. The man was bathed in the livid glow of the fiery orb, which turned his eyes to a shade of lavender never seen by firelight. “Yes, big fire, much smoke. I not know you up.”

“I’ve been awake for a while, hoping you’d come back. When you didn’t, I thought I might as well get up. The fire is out.”

“I know. I careless. Not make right to burn for night.”

“Bank, you didn’t bank it so it would not go out.”

“Bank,” she repeated. “I go start.”

He followed her back into the cave, ducking his head as he went through the entrance. It was apprehension more than necessity. The cave opening was high enough for him, but not by much. Ayla got out the iron pyrite and flint and gathered tinder and kindling.

“Didn’t you say you found that firestone on the beach? Are there more?”

“Yes. Not many. Water come, take.”

“A flood? The stream flooded and washed out some of the firestones? Maybe we should go and collect as many as we can find.”

Ayla nodded absently. She had other plans for the day, but she wanted Jondalar’s help and didn’t know how to bring it up. She was running low on meat, and she didn’t know if he would object to her hunting. She had occasionally gone out with her sling, and he had not questioned where the jerboas, hares, and giant hamsters came from. But even the men of the Clan had allowed her to hunt small game with her sling. She needed to hunt larger game, though, and that meant going out with Whinney and digging a pit trap.

She wasn’t looking forward to it. She would have preferred hunting with Baby, but he was gone. The absence of her hunting partner was the least of her worries, however. Jondalar concerned her more. She knew that, even if he objected, he couldn’t stop her. It wasn’t as though she were part of his clan—this was her cave, and he wasn’t fully recovered. But he seemed to enjoy the valley, Whinney, and the colt; he even seemed to like her. She didn’t want that to change. It had been her experience that men did not like women to hunt, but she had no choice.

And she wanted more than his acquiescence—she wanted his support, his help. She did not want to take the foal hunting. She was afraid he might get caught in the stampede and be hurt. He’d stay behind when she left with Whinney, if Jondalar would keep him company, she was sure. She wouldn’t be gone long. She could scout a herd, dig a trap, and return, then hunt the next day. But how could she ask the man to keep a foal company while she hunted? Even if he himself wasn’t able to hunt yet?

When she made a broth for the morning meal, a good look at her dwindling supply of dried meat convinced her something had to be done soon. She decided the way to begin was to expose her hunting proclivities in a small way first, by showing him her skill with her favorite weapon. His reaction to her sling hunting would give her some idea if it would be worthwhile to ask his help.

They had formed the habit of walking together in the morning alongside the brush lining the stream. It was good exercise for him, and she enjoyed it. On that morning, she tucked her sling in her waist thong when they left. All she would need was the cooperation of some creature willing to come within range.

Her hopes were more than fulfilled when a walk into the field away from the stream flushed a pair of willow grouse. She reached for sling and stones when she saw one. As she knocked the first out of the sky, the second took to wing, but her second stone brought it down. Before she retrieved them, she glanced at Jondalar. She saw astonishment, but more important, she saw a smile.

“That was amazing, woman! Is that how you’ve been catching those animals? I thought you had snares set. What is that weapon?”

She gave him the leather strap with a bulge in the middle, then went to get the birds.

“I think this is called a sling,” he said when she returned. “Willomar told me about a weapon like this. I couldn’t quite imagine what he was talking about, but this must be it. You’re good with it, Ayla. That had to take a lot of practice, even with some natural ability.”

“You like I hunt?”

“If you didn’t hunt, who would?”

“Clan man not like woman hunt.”

Jondalar studied her. She was anxious, worried. Perhaps the men didn’t like women who hunted, but it hadn’t stopped her from learning. Why had she chosen this day to demonstrate her skill? Why did he feel she was looking for approval from him?

“Most Zelandonii women hunt, at least when they’re young. My mother was noted for her tracking skill. I don’t see any reason why women shouldn’t, if they want. I like women who hunt, Ayla.”

He could see her tension evaporate; he had obviously said what she wanted to hear, and it was the truth. He wondered, though, why it was so important to her.

“I need go hunt,” she said. “Need help.”

“I’d like to, but I don’t think I’m up to it yet.”

“Not help hunt. I take Whinney,