"THE PLAINS OF PASSAGE" - читать интересную книгу автора (Auel Jean M., Ауэл Джин М.)

6

Ayla and Jondalar turned away from the river they had been following, veering toward the west in their general southerly route, and traveled across country. They came upon the valley of another large watercourse that was flowing east on its way to joining, somewhat downstream, the one they had left behind. The valley was broad, with a gentle grassy slope leading to a swift river that was racing through the middle of a level floodplain, strewn with stones of various sizes, ranging from large boulders to fine sandy gravel. Except for a few tufts of grass and an occasional flowering herb, the rocky course was bare, scoured of vegetation by the spring deluge.

A few logs, whole trees stripped of leaves and bark, sprawled across the rubbled clearing, while tangled alder brush and shrubs with grayish hairy leaves hovered near the edge. A small herd of giant deer, whose extravagant palmate antlers made the large rack of the moose seem small, were feeding along the outer fringe of woolly willows clustered in the damp lowland near the water.

Wolf was full of high spirits and had been darting under and around the legs of the horses, particularly Racer. Whinney seemed able to ignore his exuberance, but the stallion was more excitable. Ayla thought the young horse would have responded to Wolf's playfulness in kind if he had been allowed to, but with Jondalar guiding his movement, the wolf's antics only distracted him. The man was not pleased, since it required him to keep a closer control over the horse. His irritation was building up, and he was considering whether he should ask Ayla if she couldn't keep the wolf away from Racer.

Suddenly, much to Jondalar's relief, Wolf dashed away. He had caught the scent of the deer and gone to investigate. The first sight of the long legs of a giant deer was irresistible; Wolf decided it was another tall, four-legged animal for him to play with. But when the stag he approached lowered his head to fend off the charging animal, Wolf halted. The magnificent spreading antlers of the powerful deer were each twelve feet long! The great beast nibbled on the broad-leaf grass at his feet, not unmindful of the carnivore, but indifferent to him, as though he knew he had little to fear from a lone wolf.

Ayla, watching, smiled. "Look at him, Jondalar. Wolf thought that megaceros was another horse he could pester."

Jondalar smiled, too. "He does look surprised. Those antlers are a little more than he expected."

They rode slowly toward the water, understanding without saying so that neither of them wanted to startle the massive deer. They both felt a sense of awe as they neared the enormous creatures that towered over them, even on horseback. With a stately gracefulness, the herd edged away as the people and horses approached, not frightened, but cautious, browsing on the woolly willow leaves as they went.

"They are a little more than I expected, too," Ayla said. "I've never been this close before."

Though only slightly larger than moose in actual physical size, the giant deer, with their magnificent, elaborate antlers, spreading out and up from the tops of their heads, seemed enormous. Each year the fantastic horns were shed and the new pair that grew in to replace them extended to greater lengths and more complexity, eventually reaching twelve feet or more on some old males in a single season. But even when their heads were bare, that greatest member of the deer tribe was huge in comparison with any other of its kind. The shaggy fur and massive shoulder and neck muscles, which had developed to support the weight of the immense horns, contributed to their formidable aspect. Giant deer were animals of the plains. The prodigious antlers were an encumbrance in woodland, and they avoided any trees taller than brush; some had been known to starve to death, trapped by their own glorious rack caught in the branches of a tree.

When they reached the river, Ayla and Jondalar stopped and studied the waterway and the surrounding area to determine the best place to cross. The river was deep and the current swift, and large jagged boulders created rapids in places. They checked the conditions both upstream and downstream, but the nature of the river seemed consistent for some distance. Finally they decided to try to cross at a place that seemed relatively free of rocks.

They both dismounted, tied the side pack baskets to the backs of their horses, and placed inside the foot-coverings and the warm outerwear they had donned in the chill of the morning. Jondalar removed his sleeveless shirt, and Ayla considered stripping entirely so she wouldn't have to worry about drying her clothes, but a check of the water temperature with her foot changed her mind. She was used to cold water, but this fast-moving stream felt as icy as the water she had left out the night before and found in the morning with a thin frozen film on top. Even wet, the soft buckskin-leather tunic and leggings would provide some warmth.

Both the horses were agitated, moving back from the wet edge with prancing steps, whickering, neighing, and tossing their heads. Ayla put the halter with the lead rope on Whinney to help guide the horse across the water. Then, sensing the mare's growing unease, the young woman hugged the shaggy neck and talked to her with the comforting private language she had invented when they were together in the valley.

She had developed it unconsciously, building on the complex signs, but primarily on the few words that were part of the language of the Clan, and she had added the repetitive nonsense sounds she and her son had begun to use, to which she had assigned meaning. It also included horse sounds, which she had gained a sense of and learned to mimic, an occasional lion grunt, and even a few bird whistles.

Jondalar turned to listen. Though he was accustomed to her speaking to the horse that way, he had no idea what she was saying. She had an uncanny ability to reproduce the sounds the animals made – she had learned their language when she lived alone, before he had taught her to speak verbally again – and he thought the language had a strange, otherworldly quality.

Racer shifted his feet and tossed his head, squealing anxiously. Jondalar spoke to him in soft tones while he stroked and scratched him. Ayla watched, noticing how the tall man's wonderfully sensitive hands had an almost instant calming effect on the skittish young horse. It pleased her to see the closeness that had developed between them. Then her thoughts turned for a moment to the way his hands could make her feel, and she flushed slightly. He didn't calm her.

The horses were not the only nervous animals. Wolf knew what was coming and was not anticipating the cold swim. Whining and pacing up and down the bank, he finally sat down and pointed his nose up, voicing his complaint in a mournful howl.

"Come here, Wolf," Ayla said, stooping down to hug the young animal. "Are you a little frightened, too?"

"Is he going to give us problems again, crossing this river?" Jondalar said, still feeling annoyed at the wolf for bothering him and Racer earlier.

"It's not a problem for me. He's just a little nervous, like the horses are," Ayla said, wondering why Wolf's perfectly understandable fears seemed to annoy Jondalar, especially when he was so understanding of the young stallion.

The river was cold, but the horses were strong swimmers, and once they were coaxed in, they had no problem reaching the opposite shore, leading the humans as much as being led by them. Even Wolf was no trouble. He danced and whined on the bank, advancing on the cold water and retreating a few times, then finally he plunged in. With his nose held high, he struck out after the horses that were piled high with packs and bundles, and the humans swimming alongside.

Once they gained the other side, they stopped to change and dry off the animals, then continued on their way. Ayla remembered previous river crossings she had made when she had traveled alone after leaving the Clan, and she was grateful for the sturdy horses. Getting from one side to the other of a river was never easy. At the least, when traveling on foot, it usually involved getting wet. But with the horses, they could cross many smaller watercourses with little more than a splash or two, and even big rivers posed far less difficulty.

As they continued traveling southwest, the terrain changed. The hills of the uplands, that were graduating into higher foothills as they approached the mountains to the west, were crossed with the deeply cut narrow valleys of rivers they had to cross. Some days Jondalar felt that they spent so much time going up and down, they made little progress forward, but the valleys offered sheltered campsites out of the wind, and the rivers supplied the necessary water in a land that was otherwise dry.

They stopped at the top of a high hill within the central area of the hilly upland plains that ran parallel to the rivers. A vast panorama commanded their view in all directions. Except for the faint gray shapes of mountains far to the west, the expansive vista was uninterrupted.

Though the windy, arid land could not have been more different, the steppes, spread out before the two riders in a monotone of endless waving grass flowing over low rolling hills, evoked the sea with its featureless regularity. The analogy went deeper. For all the monotonous uniformity, the ancient grassland rippling in the wind was deceptively rich and varied, and like the sea, supported a profuse and exotic array of life. Outlandish creatures, displaying a flourish of biologically costly social adornments in the form of luxurious horns and antlers, shags, ruffs, and humps, shared the great steppes with other animals grown to magnificent size.

The woolly giants, mammoths and rhinoceroses, resplendent in dense double furs – long flowing hair trailing over warm downy underlayers – with thick layers of sustaining fat, flaunted extravagant tusks and exaggerated nose horns. Giant deer, bedecked with stately racks of immense palmate antlers, grazed alongside aurochs, the splendid wild forerunners of herds of placid domestic cattle, which were nearly as huge as the massive bison that sported such enormous horns. Even small animals displayed the size that was the result of the richness of the steppes; there were great jerboas, giant hamsters, and ground squirrels that were among the largest found anywhere.

The extensive grasslands also supported a bounty of other animals, many with remarkable proportions. Horses, asses, and onagers partitioned space and food on the lowlands; wild sheep, chamois, and ibex divided higher ground. Saiga antelopes raced across the flatlands. Gallery forests along river valleys, or near ponds and lakes, and the occasional wooded steppes and tundra played host to deer of all varieties, from spotted fallow and gentle roe deer to elk, red deer, and reindeer – called moose, elk, and caribou when they migrated to other lands. Hares and rabbits, mice and voles, marmots, susliks, and lemmings abounded in huge numbers; toads, frogs, snakes, and lizards had their place. Birds of every shape and size, from large cranes to tiny pipets, added their voice and color. Even insects had a role to play.

The tremendous herds of grazers, as well as the browsers and seed eaters, were culled and kept in check by the ones who ate meat. Carnivores, who were more adaptable in their range of environment and could live wherever their prey lived, also reached tremendous size because of the abundance and quality of their food supply. Gigantic cave lions, up to twice the size of their later southern descendants, hunted the young and old of even the largest grazers, though a woolly mammoth in its prime had little to fear. The usual choice of the great cats were the huge bison, aurochs, and deer, while packs of oversize hyenas, wolves, and dholes selected from more middle-size game. They divided the plentiful prey with lynxes, leopards, and small wildcats.

Monstrous cave bears, essentially vegetarian and only limited hunters, were twice the weight of the smaller brown or black bears, which also preferred an omnivorous diet that often included grass, though the white bear of the icy coasts subsisted on meat from the sea. Vicious wolverines and steppe polecats took their toll of smaller animals, including the vast number and variety of rodents, as did the sinuous sables, weasels, otters, ferrets, martens, minks, and stoats that became ermines in snow. Some foxes also turned white, or the rich gray called blue, to match the winter scenery and hunt in stealth. Tawny and golden eagles, falcons, hawks, crows, and owls snatched unsuspecting, or unlucky, small prey on the wing, while vultures and black kites cleaned up the leavings of others on the ground.

The great diversity and size of the animals that lived on those ancient steppes, and their bonus of exaggerated and richly enhanced appendages and supplementary growths, could only be sustained by an environment of exceptional quality. Yet it was a frigid, sere, demanding land surrounded by mountain-high barriers of ice and bleak oceans of frozen water. It seemed a contradiction that such a harsh environment could provide the richness that was necessary for the lavish growth of the animals but, in fact, the environment was entirely right for it. The cold, dry climate fostered the growth of grass and inhibited the growth of trees.

Trees, such as oaks or spruces, are luxuriant growths, but they take a long time and ample moisture to mature. Woodlands may feed and support a range of other plants and animals, but trees need resources to maintain themselves, and they do not encourage the development of multitudes of large animals. A few animals may eat nuts or fruits and others may browse leaves, or even twig tips from a tree, but bark and wood are largely inedible, and grow back slowly once destroyed. The same energy and soil nutrients put into an equal weight of grass will feed many, many more, and the grass will constantly renew itself. A forest may be the quintessential example of rich, productive vegetable life, but it was grass that gave rise to the extraordinary and abundant animal life, and it was the complex grassland that supported and maintained it.

Ayla was feeling uncomfortable, but she wasn't sure why. It was nothing specific, just a strange, edgy feeling. Before they started down the high hill, they had watched storm clouds gathering over the mountains to the west, seen flashes of sheet lightning, and heard distant rolling thunder. The sky above, however, was a clear, deep blue, with the sun still high, though past the zenith. It was unlikely to rain nearby, but she didn't like thunder. The deep rolling roar always reminded her of earthquakes.

Maybe it's just that my moon time should start in a day or two, Ayla thought, trying to dismiss the feeling. I had better keep my leather straps handy, and the mouflon wool Nezzie gave me. She told me it was the best padding to use when traveling, and she was right. The blood washes right out in cold water.

Ayla had not seen onagers before, and with her thoughts turned inward, she wasn't paying attention as they proceeded down the slope. She thought the animals she saw in the distance were horses. But when they got closer, she began to notice differences. They were slightly smaller, their ears were longer, and their tails were not a flowing tress of many hair strands, but a shorter, thin shaft covered with the same kind of hair that was on their bodies, with a darker tuft at the end. Both kinds of animals had erect manes, but the onagers' were more uneven. The coats of the animals in the small herd were a light reddish brown on their backs and sides, and a much paler, almost white coloring underneath, even on their legs and muzzles, but they had a dark stripe along their backbones, plus another across their shoulders, and several bands of the darker shade on their legs.

The young woman compared them with the general coloring of the horses. Though her dun coat was a shade lighter than average, with a rich golden yellow tone, most steppe horses were a similar neutral grayish brown shade and generally resembled Whinney. Racer's deep brown color was unusual for his breed. The mare's stiff thick mane was a dark gray, and the color extended down the middle of her back to her long, loose tail. Her lower legs were dark, too, almost black, and above that, only the bare suggestion of stripes showed on her upper legs. The bay stallion's color was too dark to show the black feral stripe that ran down his backbone very well, but his black mane, tail, and legs followed the typical pattern.

To someone who was knowledgeable about horses, the body conformation of the animals ahead was somewhat different, as well, yet they did seem to be horses. Ayla noticed that even Whinney showed more interest than she usually did at the sight of other animals, and the herd had stopped grazing and was watching them. Wolf was interested, too, and had assumed a stalking posture, ready to take out after them, but Ayla signaled him to stay. She wanted to observe them. One of the onagers suddenly voiced a sound and the woman noticed another difference. It wasn't a neigh, or a whinny, but rather a more strident braying sound.

Racer tossed his head and neighed an answer, then gingerly stretched his head forward to sniff at a large pile of fresh dung. It looked and smelled like horse dung to Ayla, when she rode up alongside Jondalar. Whinney nickered and sniffed the pile, too, and as the odor wafted up to her a while longer, Ayla thought she detected a faint undercurrent of something else, perhaps from somewhat different food preferences.

"Are those horses?" she asked.

"Not exactly. They're like horses, the way elk are like reindeer, or moose are like megaceroses. They're called onagers," Jondalar explained.

"I wonder why I haven't seen them before."

"I don't know, but they do seem to like this kind of country," he said, inclining his head in a gesture that indicated the rocky hills and sparse vegetation of the arid, semidesert upland plains they were riding through. Onagers were not a cross between horses and asses, though they appeared to be, rather a unique and viable species, with some characteristics of both, and extremely hardy. They could subsist on even coarser food than horses, including bark, leaves, and roots.

When they got closer to the herd, Ayla noticed a pair of young ones and couldn't help smiling. They reminded her of Whinney when she was young. Just when the wolf yelped to get her attention.

"All right, Wolf. If you want to chase those… onagers" – she said the unfamiliar word slowly, getting used to the sound – "go ahead." She was pleased with the progress she was making in training him, but he didn't like staying in one place for long. He was still too full of puppyish enthusiasm and curiosity. Wolf yelped and bounded after the herd. With a startled burst, they raced away with a sustained speed that soon left the young, would-be hunter behind. He caught up with Ayla and Jondalar as they were approaching a broad valley.

Though the valleys of rivers carrying the silt of slowly eroding mountains still cut across their path, the land was falling off gradually toward the basin of the Great Mother River delta and Beran Sea. As they were traveling south, the summer was deepening, and warm winds caused by the passage of atmospheric depressions across the sea added to the increasing temperatures of the season, and to weather disturbances.

The two travelers no longer wore outer clothes, not even when they first got up. Ayla thought the cool, crisp air of early morning was the best time of the day. But the late afternoon was hot, hotter than usual, she thought, wishing for a nice cool stream to swim in. She glanced at the man riding a few paces ahead. He was bare to the waist, and barelegged, wearing only a loincloth. His long blond hair, pulled back into a thong at the nape of his neck, had lighter streaks from the sun, and was darker where the sweat had made it wet.

She caught glimpses of his clean-shaven face and liked being able to see his strong jaw and well-defined chin, though she still had a residual feeling that it was odd to see a grown man without a beard. He had explained to her once that he liked to let his beard grow in winter, to warm his face, but he always cut it off in summer, because it was cooler. He used a special sharp flint blade, one that he knapped himself and replaced when needed, to shave himself every morning.

Ayla, too, had stripped down to a short garment, patterned after Jondalar's loincloth. Both were basically a length of soft leather, worn between the legs, and held on with a cord around the waist. His garment was worn with the loose end at the back tucked inside, and the one in front left out in a short flap. Hers was also held on with a cord around the waist, but she started with a longer piece, and she wore both loose ends out, pulled together at the sides, to hang down in a sort of apron in front and back. The effect was of a short skirt open at the sides. With the soft porous leather to sit on, riding for long periods on the back of a sweaty horse was more comfortable, though the buckskin across the animal's back helped, too.

Jondalar had used the high hill to check their location. He was pleased with their progress, which made him feel easier about the Journey. Ayla noticed that he seemed more relaxed. Part of it, she knew, was his increasing skill in managing the young stallion. Though he had ridden the animal frequently before, traveling on horseback gave him the constant association that developed an understanding of Racer's character, preferences, and habits, and allowed the horse to learn his. Even his muscles had learned to adjust to the animal's motion and his seat was more comfortable, both for him and the stallion.

But Ayla thought his easy, relaxed riding indicated more than greater facility on horseback. There was less tension in his movements, and she sensed that his concern had diminished. Though she couldn't see his face, she guessed that his frown of worry would be gone, and that he might be in a mood for smiling. She loved it when he smiled and felt playful. She watched the way his muscles moved beneath his tanned skin as he matched Racer's gait with a gentle up-and-down motion, and she felt a glow of warmth that was not from the temperature… and smiled to herself. She loved watching him.

Toward the west, they could still see the mountains rising up purple in the distance, capped by glistening white that pierced the dark clouds hanging below. They seldom saw the icy peaks, and Jondalar was enjoying the rare pleasure. Most often they were hidden by low misty clouds that clung like soft white furs cloaking a sparkling secret, opening just enough to reveal tempting glimpses and make them more desirable.

He was feeling warm, too, and wished they were closer to those snow-tipped mountaintops, at least as close as the Sharamudoi lodges. But when he noticed the glint of water in the valley below and glanced at the sky to check the position of the sun, though it was earlier than usual, he decided they might as well stop and make camp. They were making good time, traveling faster than he had estimated, and he didn't know how long it would take to reach the next source of water.

The slope supported a rich growth of grass, primarily feather grasses, fescues, and herbs mixed with varieties of quick-seeding annual grasses. The thick loess subsoil, which supported a black fertile loam that was high in the humus of decaying plantlife, even encouraged trees, which, except for the occasional scrub pine struggling for subsoil water, were unusual for the steppes in this vicinity. An open mixed woods of birch and larch, conifers that dropped their needles in winter, marched downhill with them, with alder and willow filling in lower down. At the bottom of the slope, where the land leveled out some distance from the gurgling stream, Ayla was surprised to see an occasional dwarfed oak, beech, or linden in some of the open places. She had not seen many large-leaf trees since she left the cave of Bran's clan, on the well-watered southern end of the peninsula that jutted into Beran Sea.

The small river weaved its way around brush as it meandered across the level valley floor, but one loop edged close to some tall, thin willows that were an extension of the more thickly forested slope of the other side. They usually liked to cross a river before making camp, so they wouldn't have to get wet when they started in the morning, and they decided to camp near the willows. They rode downstream, looking for a place to cross, and found a wide, stony, fordable crossing, then rode back.

While they were setting up the tent, Jondalar found himself watching Ayla, conscious of her warm, tanned body, and thinking how lucky he was. Not only was she beautiful – her strength, her supple grace, the assurance of her movements, all pleased him – but she was a good traveling companion, contributing equally to their well-being. Though he felt responsible for her safety and wanted to protect her from harm, there was comfort in knowing he could rely on her. In some ways, traveling with Ayla was like traveling with his brother. He had felt protective toward Thonolan, too. It was his nature to be concerned for those he cared about.

But only in some ways. When the young woman lifted her arms to shake out the ground cover, he became aware that the skin was lighter on the underside of her rounded breasts, and he had an urge to compare the tone with her browned arm. He didn't think that he might be staring, but he did notice when she stopped working and turned toward him. When he caught her eye, Ayla smiled slowly.

Suddenly he felt an urge to do more than compare skin tones. It pleased him to know that if he wanted to share Pleasures with her right then, she would be willing. There was comfort in that, too. It wasn't as necessary to seize every opportunity. The feeling was as strong, but the urgency was less, and sometimes waiting a bit made it better. He could think about it and enjoy the anticipation. Jondalar smiled back.

After they set up camp, Ayla wanted to explore the valley. It was unusual to find such a thickly wooded area in the middle of the steppes, and she was curious. She hadn't seen such vegetation for years.

Jondalar wanted to explore, too. After their experience with the bear at the campsite near the grove of trees, he wanted to check for tracks or other indications of the animals that might be in the vicinity. With Ayla taking along her sling and collecting basket, and Jondalar his spear-thrower with a couple of spears, they headed into the willows. They left the horses to graze, but Wolf was eager to accompany them. The woods were an unusual place for him, too, full of fascinating scents.

Back from the water, the willow trees gave way to alder, then birch mixed with larch became common, and there were some good-size pines. Ayla eagerly picked a few cones when she saw they were stone pines, for the large, delicious pine nuts they contained. But more unusual to her were the occasional large-leafed trees. In one area, still on the level valley plain but near the bottom of the slope that led to the open grassland above, was a pure stand of beech trees.

Ayla looked them over carefully, comparing them with her memory of similar trees that grew near the cave where she had lived as a child. The bark was smooth and gray, and the leaves were oval narrowing to a point at the end with shallow sharp teeth around the edge, and silky white underneath. The small brown nuts, encased in their bristly husk, were not yet ripe, but the mast of nuts and shells on the ground from last season showed the plentiful yield. She recalled that beechnuts were hard to crack. The trees were not as large as the ones she remembered, but respectable. Then she noticed the unusual plants growing under the trees and knelt down to take a closer look.

"Are you going to collect those?" Jondalar asked. "They look dead. There're no leaves on them."

"They aren't dead. That's how they grow. Here, feel how fresh it is," Ayla said, breaking off the upper few inches of the foot-high, smooth, leafless stem with slender branches the whole length of it. The entire plant was a dull reddish color, including the flower buds, without a hint of green.

"They grow from the roots of other plants," Ayla said, "like the one Iza used to put on my eyes when I cried, except those were white, and kind of shiny. Some people were afraid of them because they thought their color looked like the skin of a dead person. They were even named…" – she thought for a moment – "something like dead man's plant, or corpse plant."

She stared into space as she remembered. "Iza thought my eyes were weak because they watered, and it bothered her." Ayla smiled at the thought. "She'd get a fresh one of those white corpse plants and squeeze the juice right out of the stem into my eyes. If they were sore from crying too much, it always made them feel better." She was silent for a time, then shook her head slightly. "I'm not sure if these are good for eyes. Iza used them for little cuts and bruises, and for certain growths."

"What are they called?"

"I think her name for them would be… what is your name for this tree, Jondalar?"

"I'm not sure. I don't think they grow near my home, but the Sharamudoi name is 'beech.'"

"Then I think these would be called 'beechdrops,' " she said, getting up and brushing her hands together to dust them off.

Suddenly Wolf froze, his nose pointed toward the deep woods. Jondalar noticed his stalking posture and, remembering how Wolf had scented the bear, reached for a spear. He laid it on top of the groove in his spear-thrower, a shaped piece of wood about half the length of a spear, which was held in a horizontal position with his right hand. He fitted the hollow at the butt of the spear into the notch at the back of the thrower. Then he put his fingers through the two loops near the front of the throwing weapon, which reached a place just short of the middle of the spear, to hold the shaft in place as it rested on top of his spear-thrower. It was done quickly with a smooth motion, and he stood with knees slightly flexed, ready to cast. Ayla had reached for stones and was ready with her sling, wishing she had brought her spear-thrower, too.

Moving through the sparse undergrowth, Wolf made a dash toward a tree. There was a scurry of movement in the beechnut mast, then a small animal raced straight up the smooth trunk. Standing up on his hind legs, as though he was trying to climb the tree as well, Wolf yelped after the furry creature.

Suddenly a commotion up in the branches of the tree attracted their attention. They caught sight of the rich sable-brown coat and long sinuous shape of a beech marten chasing after the loudly chittering squirrel, who thought it had just escaped up the tree. Wolf wasn't the only one who thought the squirrel was worthy of interest, but the large weasellike animal, a foot and a half in length with a bushy tail that added another twelve inches to its dimensions, had a much better chance of success. Racing through the high branches, it was as nimble and fleet as its intended prey.

"I think that squirrel jumped out of the cooking skin into the coals," Jondalar said, watching the drama unfold.

"Maybe he'll get away," Ayla said.

"It's doubtful. I wouldn't wager a broken blade on it." The squirrel was chittering loudly. An excited jay squawking a raucous caw added to the disturbance, then a willow tit stridently announced its presence. Wolf couldn't stand it, he had to join in. Stretching his head back, he voiced a long howl. The small squirrel climbed out to the end of a limb; then, to the surprise of the two watching people, it leaped into the air. Spreading its legs, it stretched out the broad skin flap that extended along the sides of its body, joining the front and back legs, and soared through the air.

Ayla caught her breath as she watched the flying squirrel avoiding branches and trees. The bushy tail acted as a rudder, and by changing the position of its legs and tail, which changed the tension on the gliding membrane, the squirrel could steer clear of objects in its flight path as it descended in a long, smooth curve. It was aiming for a tree some distance away and, when it drew near, it turned both its tail and body up, and landed low on the trunk, then quickly scurried up. When it reached some high branches, the furry little animal turned around and climbed down again, headfirst, its outstretched hind claws stuck into the bark to anchor it. It looked around, then disappeared into a small hole. The dramatic leap and soaring glide had prevented its capture, though not even that amazing feat was always successful.

Wolf was still up on his hind legs against the tree looking for the squirrel that had so easily eluded him. He dropped down, began sniffing through the underbrush, then suddenly dashed away, chasing something else.

"Jondalar! I didn't know squirrels could fly," Ayla said, with a smile of surprised wonder.

"I should have made that wager, but I've never seen them before, though I have heard of them. I don't think I really believed it. People always talked of seeing the squirrels flying at night, and I thought it was probably a bat that someone mistook for a squirrel. But that was definitely not a bat." With a wry smile he added, "Now I'll be one of those that no one quite believes when he talks about seeing a flying squirrel."

"I'm glad it was just a squirrel," Ayla said, suddenly feeling a chill. She glanced up and noticed that a cloud was blocking the sun. She felt a shiver across her shoulders and down her back, though it wasn't really cold. "I didn't know what Wolf was after this time."

Feeling a bit foolish for reacting so strongly to a threat he only imagined, Jondalar relaxed his grip on his spear and thrower, but still held on. "I thought it might have been a bear," he said. "Especially with these thick woods."

"Some trees always grow near rivers, but I haven't seen trees like these since I left the Clan. Isn't this a strange place for them to be?"

"It is unusual. This place reminds me of the land of the Sharamudoi, but that's south of here, even south of those mountains we see to the west, and near Donau, the Great Mother River."

Suddenly Ayla stopped where she was. Nudging Jondalar, she silently pointed. At first he didn't see what had caught her attention, then he noticed a slight movement of a foxy-red coat, and saw the three-pronged antlers of a roe deer. The commotion and the smell of wolf had caused the small wary deer to freeze. It had stood without moving, hidden in the brush, waiting to see if there was anything to fear from the predator. With the four-legged hunter gone, it had cautiously begun to move away. Jondalar's spear and spear-thrower were still in his right hand. He raised it slowly, and taking aim, hurled the spear at the throat of the animal. The danger it feared had come from an unexpected direction. The hard-flung spear landed true. Even as it hit, the roe deer attempted to leap away, took a few bounding steps, then crashed to the ground.

The flight of the squirrel and the unsuccessful sable were quickly forgotten. Jondalar crossed the distance to the roe deer in a few steps, with Ayla beside him. While Ayla turned the head, he knelt down beside the still struggling animal and slit its throat with his sharp blade to finish it off quickly and let it bleed. Then he stood up.

"Roe Deer, when your spirit returns to the Great Earth Mother, thank Her for giving us one of your kind, that we may eat," Jondalar said quietly.

Ayla, standing beside the man, nodded, then prepared to help him skin and butcher their dinner.