The Land of Painted Caves (Earth's Children 6)

“Whiiinnney,” she called, “Whiiiinnney!” making it a loud neigh that sounded to Jondalar exactly like a horse.

It was the name she had originally given the mare. The name she was called by most people, Whinney, was an accommodation Ayla had made to the language of people. She whinnied again, then blew her special call whistle very loudly. Finally, from a distance, they heard an answering neigh.

“Wolf, go find Whinney,” she said to the canine. The animal raced off in the direction of the neigh with Ayla and Jondalar following behind. They went through the fence where the horses had stomped it down to break through, and she understood how they got out.

They found all three horses near a creek at the back of the area the Ninth Cave was using for their camp. Wolf was sitting on his haunches guarding them, but, Ayla realized, he wasn’t too close. They had obviously had a bad scare, and somehow the wolf sensed that even the friendly carnivore felt threatening at the moment. Ayla rushed to Whinney, but slowed down when she noticed that Whinney was watching her intently, her mouth tight, her ears, nose, and eyes pointed toward her, focused on her, sometimes swinging her head slightly.

“You’re still afraid, aren’t you?” Ayla began talking to the mare softly in their special language. “I don’t blame you, Whinney.” Again she said her name the way a horse would, but more softly. “I’m sorry I left you alone to fight off that leopard by yourselves, and I’m sorry no one was here to hear you when you were screaming for help.”

She had been slowly walking toward the horse as she spoke until finally she reached her and put her arms around the sturdy neck. The horse relaxed, put her head over the woman’s shoulder and leaned into her as Ayla leaned back in the familiar comforting stance that had been their custom since the early days in the valley.

Jondalar followed her lead, whistling his call to Racer, who was also still feeling frightened. He stuck the torch in the ground, then approached the young stallion, and stroked and scratched him in his favorite places. The handling by their familiar friends comforted the animals, and soon Gray also joined in, nursing from her dam for a while, then going to Ayla for some affectionate touching and scratching. Jondalar also joined in stroking the little filly. But it was only after the five of them were all together—six including Jonayla, who was awake and squirming in her carrying blanket—that Wolf joined them.

Even though Whinney and Racer had known him from the time he was a four-week-old pup and had helped to raise him, his underlying scent was still of a carnivore, a meat-eater whose wild cousins often preyed on horses. Wolf had sensed their discomfort when they saw him, probably from their scent of fear, and knew to wait until they were comfortable again before approaching them. He was welcomed to the pack of people and horses that he had imprinted on, the only pack he had known.

About then Jonayla decided it was her turn. She let out a hungry wail. Ayla took her out of her carrying blanket and held her out in front to pass her water on the ground. When she was through, Ayla propped her up on Gray’s back for a moment, holding her with one hand while she straightened out the carrying blanket and exposed a breast with the other hand. Soon the infant was wrapped up again, held close to her mother, happily nursing.

On the way back, they made a detour around the enclosure, knowing that the horses would never go into it again. Ayla thought that she would get rid of the leopard carcass later and she wasn’t sure about the enclosure. At the moment she never wanted to put the horses in one again and would be happy to give the wooden poles and planks to whoever wanted them, for firewood if nothing else. When they reached their lodge, they led the horses around to an area on the back side of the summer dwelling that was used infrequently, where some grass still grew.

“Should we put a halter on them and tie them to a ground stake?” Jondalar said. “It would keep them close by.”

“I think it would upset Whinney, and Racer, after their scare, if they couldn’t run freely. For now I think they will want to stay close, unless something scares them again, and we’d hear them. I think I’m going to leave Wolf out here to guard them, at least for tonight.” She went to the animal and bent down close. “Stay here, Wolf. Stay here and watch Whinney, and Racer and Gray. Stay and guard the horses.” She wasn’t entirely sure if he understood, but when he lowered his hind quarters and looked toward the horses, she thought he might. She pulled out the bone she had tucked away for him and gave it to him.

The small fire they had started inside the shelter had long since gone out, so they started a new one, bringing in more fuel to keep it going. About then, Ayla noticed that the nursing was encouraging Jonayla to generate more than water. She quickly spread out a small pile of soft absorbent cattail fibers, and laid the child’s bare bottom on it.

“Jondalar, would you get the large waterbag and bring me whatever is left in it, so I can clean her up, then go and fill it with fresh water, and our small one, too,” Ayla said.

“She is a smelly little thing,” he said with an adoring smile at the little girl he thought was utterly beautiful.

He found the bowl made of tightly woven osier willow withes with an ocher-stained red cord worked in near the top, which was often used to clean especially dirty messes of various kinds. It was marked with the color so it wouldn’t inadvertently be used for drinking water or cooking. He brought it and the nearly empty waterbag to their hearth, filled the bowl, then took their waterbag, made of the stomach of an ibex, the same one that provided the hide for Jonayla’s carrying blanket, along with the large general one to the entrance. He picked up one of the unlit torches that was nearby, took it to their fireplace to light it, and picking up the waterbags on the way, went out.

Animal stomachs, when thoroughly cleaned and with extra holes at the bottom sewed or tied off, were nearly waterproof and made excellent waterbags. When Jondalar came back with the water, the soiled water bowl was beside the night basket near the door, and Ayla was nursing Jonayla again in hopes of putting her to sleep.

“I suppose I should empty the bowl and the night basket, while I’m at it,” he said, planting the end of the lighted torch in the ground.

“If you want, but hurry,” Ayla said, looking at him with a languor

ous yet mischievous smile. “I think Jonayla is almost asleep.”

He felt an immediate tightening in his loins and smiled back. He brought the large, heavy waterbag to the main hearth and hung it in its accustomed place, a peg on one of the strong posts that supported the structure, then brought the second one to their sleeping place.

“Are you thirsty?” he asked, as he watched her nurse the baby.

“I wouldn’t mind a little water. I was thinking of making some tea, but I think I’ll wait until later,” she said.

He poured some water in a cup and gave it to her, then went back to the door. He poured the contents of the bowl into the night basket, then picked up the torch and went back outside taking the night basket and soiled bowl with him. Propping the torch in the ground, he dumped the large, malodorous night basket in one of the trenches the people used for passing their wastes. Dumping such wastes was a job no one liked to do. Picking up the torch, he then took them both to the lower end of the stream, far away from the place upstream that they had designated as their source of water. He rinsed them both out, letting the water flow through them; then with a shovel made of the scapula of some animal, with one edge thinned and sharpened, that was left there for the purpose, he filled the night basket something less than half full of dirt. Then, using clean sand from the bank of the waterway, he carefully washed and scoured his hands. Finally, with the torch to guide his way, he picked up the basket and bowl and headed back to the dwelling.

He put the night basket in its usual place, the bowl beside it, and the flaming torch in a holder made for it near the entrance. “That’s done,” he said, smiling at Ayla as he walked toward her. She was still holding the baby. He kicked off his sandals made of woven grass—the usual foot-coverings worn in the summer—and lay down beside her, propping himself up on one elbow.

“It will be someone else’s turn next,” she said.

“That water is cold,” he said.

“And so are your hands,” she said, reaching for them. “I should warm them up,” she added, the hint of suggestion in her voice.

He looked at her with glowing eyes, his pupils enlarged with desire, and the dim light inside the dwelling.

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