The Mammoth Hunters (Earth's Children 3)

“That puppy was all that mother wolf ever had. I could not let him starve because I killed his mother. If someone hadn’t cared about me when I was young, I would not be alive. I have to care, too, even for a wolf puppy.” Ayla’s voice had risen, too.

“It’s not the same. A wolf is an animal. You should have better sense, Ayla, than to threaten your own life for the sake of a wolf puppy,” Jondalar shouted. He couldn’t seem to make her understand. “This is not the kind of weather to be out in all day.”

“I have good sense, Jondalar,” Ayla said with anger flashing in her eyes. “I was the one who was out. Don’t you think I know what the weather was like? Don’t you think I know when my life is in danger? I took care of myself before you came, and faced far worse dangers. I even took care of you. I don’t need you to tell me I am stupid and don’t have sense.”

People who were gathering at the Mammoth Hearth were reacting to the quarrel, smiling nervously and trying to make less of it. Jondalar glanced around and noticed several people smiling and talking among themselves, but the one who stood out was the dark man with the flashing eyes. Was there a hint of condescension in his broad smile?

“You’re right, Ayla. You don’t need me, do you? For anything.” Jondalar spat, then seeing Talut approaching, he asked, “Would you mind if I moved to the cooking hearth, Talut? I’ll try to stay out of everyone’s way.”

“No, of course I don’t mind, but …”

“Good. Thank you,” he said, and grabbed his bedding and belongings from the bed platform he shared with Ayla.

Ayla was stricken, beside herself to think he might really want to sleep away from her. She was almost ready to beg him not to leave, but her pride held her tongue. He had shared her bed, but they hadn’t shared Pleasures in so long she was sure he had stopped loving her. If he didn’t love her any more, she would not try to force him to stay, though the thought of it wrenched her stomach into a knot of fear and grief.

“You’d better take your share of food, too,” she said, as he stuffed things into a back carrier. Then, trying to find a way to make the separation not quite so complete, she added, “Though I don’t know who will cook for you there. It is not a real hearth.”

“Who do you think cooked for me when I was on my Journey? A donii? I don’t need a woman to take care of me. I’ll cook for myself!” He stomped away, his arms full of furs, through the Fox Hearth and the Lion Hearth, and threw his bedding down near the tool-working area. Ayla watched him go, not wanting to believe it.

The lodge was buzzing with talk about their separation. Deegie hurried down the passageway after hearing the news, finding it hard to believe. She and her mother had gone to the Aurochs Hearth while Ayla was feeding the wolf and spoke together quietly for some time. Deegie, who had also changed into dry clothes, looked both chastened and resolute. Yes, they should not have stayed out so long, for their own safety as well as for the concern they caused others, but no, under the circumstances, she would not have done anything differently. Tulie would like to have spoken to Ayla as well, but felt it would be inappropriate, especially after hearing Deegie’s story. Ayla had told Deegie to go back before they started their senseless wolf tracking, and they were both grown young women who should be perfectly able to take care of themselves by now, but Tulie had never been so worried about Deegie in her life.

Nezzie nudged Tronie, and they both filled plates with warmed food and brought it to the Mammoth Hearth for Ayla and Deegie. Maybe things would straighten out after they had something to eat and had a chance to tell their story.

Everyone had held off asking about the wolf pup until the necessities of warmth and food for the young women, and the little wolf, had been attended to. Though she had been hungry, Ayla found it hard now to put food in her mouth. She kept looking in the direction Jondalar had gone. Everyone else seemed to find their way to the Mammoth Hearth, anticipating the story of an exciting and unusual adventure, which could be told and retold. Whether she was in the mood or not, they all wanted to know the story of how she arrived back at the lodge with a baby wolf.

Deegie began by relating the strange circumstances of the white foxes in the snares. She was quite certain now that it was the black wolf, weakened and hungry, and unable to hunt deer or horse or bison alone, that had been driven to taking the foxes from the traps for food. Ayla suggested that the black might have followed Deegie’s trail from trap to trap when she set them. Then Deegie told of Ayla wanting white fur to make something for someone, but not white fox fur this time, and tracking the ermine.

Jondalar arrived after the storytelling began, and was trying to remain quietly unnoticed sitting near the far wall. He was already sorry and berating himself for leaving so hastily, but he felt the blood drain from his face when he heard Deegie’s remark. If Ayla was making something with white fur for someone, and did not want winter fox, it must be because she had already given that someone white winter fox. And he knew to whom she had given white fox furs at her adoption ceremony. Jondalar closed his eyes and clenched his fists in his lap. He didn’t even want to think it, but he couldn’t keep the thoughts from his mind. Ayla must be making something for the dark man who looked so stunning in white fur; for Ranec.

Ranec wondered, too, who the someone was. He suspected it was Jondalar, but he hoped it might be someone else, maybe even him. It gave him an idea, though. Whether she was making something for him or not, he could still make something for her. He recalled her excitement and delight over the carved horse he had given her, and grew warm at the thought of carving something else for her; something that would delight her and excite her again, especially now that the big blond man had moved away. Jondalar’s presence had always acted as a restraining influence, but if he was willingly abdicating his primary position, leaving her bed and her hearth, then Ranec felt free to pursue her more actively.

The little wolf whimpered in his sleep, and Ayla, sitting on the edge of her bed platform, reached over and stroked him to calm him. The only time in his young life that he had felt as warm and secure as he did now was when he had been nestled beside his mother, and she had left him alone many times in the cold dark den. But Ayla’s hand had taken him out of that cheerless and frighteningly alone place, and brought him warmth and food and a feeling of safety. He settled down under her reassuring touch without even waking.

Ayla let Deegie continue the story, only adding comments and explanations. She didn’t feel much like talking, and it was interesting that the other young woman’s story was not the same one she would have told. It wasn’t less true, but seen from a different viewpoint, and Ayla was a little surprised at some of her companion’s impressions. She hadn’t seen the situation as quite so da

ngerous. Deegie had been much more frightened of the wolf; she didn’t seem to really understand them.

Wolves were among the gentlest of meat eaters, and very predictable, if you paid attention to their signals—weasels were far more bloodthirsty and bears more unpredictable. It was rare for wolves to attack humans.

But Deegie didn’t see them that way. She described the wolf as viciously attacking Ayla, and she had been afraid. It had been dangerous, but even if Ayla hadn’t fended it off, the attack was defensive. She might have been hurt, but she probably would not have been killed, and the wolf had backed down as soon as she could grab the dead ermine and get away. When Deegie described Ayla diving head first into the wolf’s den, the Camp looked at her in awe. She was either very brave or very foolhardy, but Ayla didn’t think she was either. She knew there were no other adult wolves around, there were no other tracks. The black had been a lone wolf, probably far from her home territory, and the black was dead.

Deegie’s vivid recounting of Ayla’s exploits did more than cause awe in one of the listeners. Jondalar had been growing more and more agitated. In his mind he embellished the story even more, envisioned Ayla not only in great danger but attacked by wolves, hurt and bleeding, and perhaps worse. He couldn’t bear the thought, and his earlier anxiety returned in redoubled force. Other people had similar feelings.

“You should not have put yourself in such danger, Ayla,” the headwoman said.

“Mother!” Deegie said. The woman had indicated earlier that she would not bring up her concerns.

People who were still caught up in the adventure scowled at her for interrupting a dramatic story, told with skill. That it was true made it more exciting, and though it would be told and retold, it would never again have the fresh impact of the first hearing. The mood was being spoiled—after all, she was back home and safe now.

Ayla looked at Tulie, then glanced at Jondalar. She had known the moment he came back to the Mammoth Hearth. He had been angry, and so, it seemed, was Tulie. “I was not in such danger,” she said.

“You do not think it is dangerous to go into a wolves’ den?” Tulie asked.

“No. There was no danger. It was the den of a lone wolf, and she was dead. I only went in to look for her babies.”

“That may be, but was it necessary to stay out so late tracking the wolf? It was almost dark before you returned,” Tulie said.

Jondalar had said the same thing. “But I knew the black had young, she was nursing. Without a mother, they would die,” Ayla explained, although she had said it before and thought it was understood.