The Mammoth Hunters (Earth's Children 3)

“Is long story,” she signaled back, “will tell later.” She quickly pulled off her parka. Nezzie took it and handed her a cup of hot tea. She smiled gratefully and took a sip.

“It doesn’t matter where she got it. What is she going to do with it?” Frebec demanded. Ayla knew he understood the silent language, though he claimed he didn’t. He had obviously understood Rydag. She turned and faced him.

“I am going to take care of it, Frebec,” Ayla said, her eyes blazing with defiance. “I killed its mother”—she motioned toward the black wolf—“and I’m going to take care of this baby.”

“That’s not a baby. That’s a wolf! An animal that can hurt people,” he said. Ayla seldom took such a strong stand with him or anyone, and he had discovered she would often give in on small issues to avoid conflict if he was nasty enough. He didn’t expect the direct confrontation, and he didn’t like it, especially when he could sense it was not likely to go his way.

Manuv looked at the wolf puppy, and then at Frebec, and his face split into a wide grin. “Are you afraid that animal is going to hurt you, Frebec?”

The raucous laughter made Frebec flush with anger. “I didn’t mean that. I mean wolves can hurt people. First it’s horses, now it’s wolves. What next? I am not an animal, and I don’t want to live with animals,” he said. Then he stomped away, not ready to test whether the rest of the Lion Camp would rather have him or Ayla and her animals if he forced them to make a choice.

“Do you have meat left from that bison roast, Nezzie?”

“You must be starving. I’ll fix you a plate of dinner.”

“Not for me. For the wolf puppy,” Ayla said.

Nezzie brought Ayla a slab of roast meat, wondering how such a small wolf was going to eat it. But Ayla remembered a lesson she had learned long ago: babies can eat whatever their mothers eat, but it must be softer and easier to chew and swallow. She had once brought an injured young cave lion cub to her valley and fed him meat and broth instead of milk. Wolves were meat eaters, too. She recalled that when she was watching wolves to learn about them, older wolves often chewed up food and swallowed it to bring it back to the den, then regurgitated it for the puppies. But she didn’t have to chew it up, she had hands and a sharp knife, she could cut it up.

After mincing the meat to a pulp, Ayla put it in a bowl and added warm water, to bring the temperature closer to mother’s milk. The puppy had been sniffing around the edges of the drawing pit, but seemed afraid to venture beyond its boundaries. Ayla sat down on the mat, held out her hand and softly called to the wolf. She had taken the baby from a cold and lonely place and brought it warmth and comfort, and her scent was already associated with security. The fuzzy fur ball waddled toward her outstretched hand.

She picked it up first to examine it. Close scrutiny revealed the little wolf was a male, and very young, probably no more than one full cycle of moon phases had passed since he was born. She wondered if he’d had siblings, and if he did, when they died. He was not injured in any way that she could tell, and he did not seem to be malnourished, though the black wolf had certainly been scrawny. When Ayla thought about the terrible odds the black had fought to keep this one pup alive, it reminded her of an ordeal she had once faced and it strengthened her resolve. If she could, she was going to keep the mother wolf’s son alive, whatever it took, and not Frebec or anyone else was going to stop her.

Holding the pup in her lap, Ayla dipped her finger in the bowl of finely minced meat and held it under the baby wolf’s nose. He was hungry. He nosed it, licked it, and then licked her finger clean. She scooped up another fingerful, and he eagerly licked that off, too. She held him on her lap, and continued to feed him, feeling his little belly round out. When she felt he had enough, she held a little water under his nose, but he only sampled. Then she got up and carried him to the Mammoth Hearth.

“I think you’ll find some old baskets on that bench over there,” Mamut said, following behind her.

She smiled at him. He knew exactly what she had in mind. She rummaged around and found a large woven cooking container, falling apart at one end, and put it on the platform near the head of her bed. But when she put the wolf in it, he whimpered to get out. She picked him up and looked around again, not sure what would work. She was tempted to take him into her bed, but she’d been through that with growing baby horses and lions. It was too hard getting them to change their habits later, and besides, Jondalar might not want to share his bed with a wolf.

“He’s not happy in the basket. He probably wants his mother or other puppies to sleep with,” Ayla said.

“Give him something of yours, Ayla,” Mamut said. “Something soft, comfortable, familiar. You’re his mother now.”

She nodded and looked over her small assortment of clothes. She didn’t have much. Her beautiful outfit from Deegie, the one she had made in the valley before she came, and some used odds and ends given to her by other people for changes. She’d had plenty of spare wraps when she lived with the Clan, and even in the valley …

She noticed the backframe she had brought from the valley put aside in a far corner of the storage platform. She looked through it and pulled out Durc’s cloak, but after holding it for a moment, she folded it and put it back. She couldn’t bear to give it up. Then she found her old Clan wrap, a large old hide of soft leather. She had worn one like it, wrapped around her and tied with a long thong, for as long as she could remember, until the day she first left her valley with Jondalar. It seemed so long ago now. She lined the basket with the Clan wrap, and put the wolf puppy in it. He sniffed around, then quickly snuggled in and was soon sound asleep.

Suddenly she realized how tired she was, and hungry, and her clothes were still damp from the snow. She took off wet boots, and the lining made of felted mammoth wool, and changed into one of her dry outfits and the soft indoor footwear Talut had shown her how to make. She had been intrigued by the pair he had worn at her adoption ceremony, and prevailed upon him to show her how they were made.

They were based on a natural characteristic of elk or deer: the hind leg bends so sharply at the gambrel joint it conforms to the natural shape of a human foot. The skin was cut above and below the joint and taken off in one piece. After curing, the lower end was then sewn with sinew to the desired size, and the upper part wrapped and laced above the ankle with cords or thongs. The result was a seamless, warm, and comfortable leather stocking-shoe.

After she changed, Ayla went into the annex to check on the horses, and reassure them, but she noticed a hesitation and a resistance from the mare when she went to pet her.

“You smell the wolf, don’t you, Whinney? You will have to get used to it. Both of you. The wolf is going to be here with us, for a while.” She held out her hands and let both horses sniff them. Racer backed off, snorted and tossed his head, and sniffed again. Whinney put her muzzle into the woman’s hands, but her ears flattened back and she bobbed indecisively. “You got used to Baby, Whinney, you can get used to … Wolf. I’ll bring him out here tomorrow, when he wakes up. When you see how little he is, you will know he can’t hurt you.”

When Ayla went back in, she saw Jondalar by the bed looking at the wolf puppy. His expressio

n was unreadable, but she thought she saw curiosity and something like tenderness in his eyes. He looked up and saw her, and his forehead furrowed in a familiar way.

“Ayla, why did you stay out so long?” he said. “Everyone was getting ready to search for you.”

“We didn’t plan to, but once I saw that the black wolf I killed was nursing, I had to see if I could find her pups,” Ayla said.

“What difference did it make? Wolves die all the time, Ayla!” He had started out talking to her in a reasonable tone, but his fear for her safety was putting an edge on his voice. “It was stupid to go tracking after a wolf like that. If you had found a wolf pack, they could have killed you.” Jondalar had been beside himself with worry, but with relief came uncertainty, and a touch of frustrated anger.

“It made a difference to me, Jondalar,” she flared, jumping to the defense of the wolf. “And I am not stupid. I hunted meat eaters before I hunted anything else. I know wolves. If there had been a pack, I would not have backtracked to her den. The pack would have taken care of her pups.”

“Even if she was a lone wolf, why did you spend all day chasing after a wolf puppy?” Jondalar’s voice had gotten louder. He was releasing his own tensions as well as trying to convince her not to take such chances again.