The Valley Of Horses

10

Ayla could hardly keep herself off the horse's back. Riding the young mare as she galloped at top speed was an inexpressible joy. It thrilled her more than anything she had ever known. Whinney seemed to enjoy it as well, and she quickly became accustomed to carrying the woman on her back. The valley soon became too small to contain the woman and her galloping steed. They often raced across the steppes east of the river, which were easy to reach.

She knew that soon she would have to gather and hunt, process and store the wild food nature provided to prepare for the next cycle of seasons. But during early spring when the earth was still awakening from the long winter, its offerings were lean. A few fresh greens added variety to a dried winter diet, but neither roots nor buds, nor bony shanks, had yet filled out. Ayla took advantage of her enforced leisure to ride the horse as often as she could, most days from early morning to late evening.

At first she just rode, sitting passively, going wherever the horse went. She didn't think in terms of directing the filly; the signals Whinney had learned to understand were visual – Ayla didn't attempt to communicate with only words – and she couldn't see them with the woman sitting on her back. But to the woman, body language had always been as much a part of speaking as specific gestures, and riding allowed close contact.

After an initial period of soreness, Ayla began to notice the play of the horse's muscles, and after her initial adjustment, Whinney could sense the woman's tension and relaxation. They had already developed an ability to sense each other's needs and feelings, and a desire to respond to them. When Ayla wanted to go in a particular direction, unknowingly she leaned that way, and her muscles communicated the change in tension to the horse. The horse began reacting to the tension and relaxation of the woman on her back by changing direction or speed. The animal's response to the barely perceptible movements caused Ayla to tense or move in the same way when she wanted Whinney to respond that way again.

It was a mutual training period, each learning from the other, and in the process deepening their relationship. But without being aware of it, Ayla was taking control. The signals between woman and horse were so subtle, and the transition from passive acceptance to active direction so natural, that Ayla didn't notice it at first, except at a subliminal level. The almost continuous riding became a concentrated and intense training course. As the relationship grew more sensitive, Whinney's reactions came to be so finely tuned that Ayla had only to think of where she wanted to go and at what speed and, as though the animal were an extension of her own body, the horse responded. The young woman didn't realize she had transmitted signals through nerves and muscles to the highly sensitive skin of her mount.

Ayla hadn't planned to train Whinney. It was the result of the love and attention she lavished on the animal, and the innate differences between horse and human. Whinney was curious and intelligent, she could learn and had a long memory, but her brain was not as evolved and was organized differently. Horses were social animals, normally living in herds, and they needed the closeness and warmth of fellow creatures. The sense of touch was particularly developed and important in establishing close rapport. But the young mare's instincts led her to follow directions, to go where she was led. When panicked, even leaders of herds fled with the rest.

The woman's actions had purpose, were directed by a brain in which foresight and analysis were constantly interacting with knowledge and experience. Her vulnerable position kept her survival reflexes sharp and forced her to be constantly aware of her surroundings, which together had precipitated and accelerated the training process. The sight of a hare or giant hamster, even while she was riding for pleasure, tended to make Ayla reach for her sling and want to go after it. Whinney had quickly interpreted her desire, and her first step in that direction led ultimately to the young woman's tight, though unconscious, control of the horse. It wasn't until Ayla killed a giant hamster that she became aware of it.

It was still early in spring. They had flushed the animal inadvertently, but the moment Ayla saw it running, she leaned toward it – reaching for her sling as Whinney started racing after it. When they drew near, Ayla's shift in position, that came with a thought to jump down, brought the horse to a halt in time for her to slide off and hurl a stone.

It'll be nice to have fresh meat tonight, she was thinking as she walked back toward the waiting horse. I should do more hunting, but it's been so much fun riding Whinney…

I was riding Whinney! She chased after that hamster. And she stopped when I wanted her to! Ayla's thoughts raced back to the first day she had climbed on the horse's back and wrapped her arms around the young mare's neck. Whinney had reached down for a clump of tender new grass.

"Whinney!" Ayla cried. The horse lifted her head and perked up her ears expectantly. The young woman was stunned. She didn't know how to explain it. The mere idea of riding on the horse had been overwhelming enough, but that the horse would go where Ayla wanted to go was harder to understand than the process had been for both of them to learn.

The horse came to her. "Oh, Whinney," she said again, her voice cracking with a sob, though she wasn't sure why, as she hugged the shaggy neck. Whinney blew through her nostrils and arched her neck so her head was leaning over the woman's shoulder.

When she went to mount the horse, Ayla felt clumsy. The hamster seemed to get in the way. She walked to a boulder, though she had long since ceased using one, and, stopping to think about it, knew she had jumped and thrown her leg over, mounting easily before. After some initial confusion, Whinney started back to the cave. When Ayla consciously tried to govern the filly, her unconscious signals lost some of their decisiveness, as did Whinney's response. She didn't know how she had been directing the horse.

Ayla learned to rely on her reflexes again when she discovered that Whinney responded better if she relaxed, though in the process she did develop some purposeful signals. As the season waxed, she began to hunt more. At first she stopped the horse and got off to use her sling, but it wasn't long before she made an attempt from horseback. Missing her shot only gave her reason to practice, a new challenge. She had taught herself the use of the weapon in the beginning by practicing alone. It was a game then, and there was no one she could have turned to for training; she wasn't supposed to hunt. And after a lynx caught her unarmed when a stone missed, she had developed a technique to rapid-fire two stones, practicing until she had it perfected.

It had been a long time since she'd had need to practice with her sling, and it again became a game, though no less serious because it was fun. She was already so skilled, however, that it wasn't long before she was as accurate from horseback as she was standing on her own two feet. But, even racing on the horse as she closed on a fleet-footed hare, the young woman still didn't comprehend, couldn't imagine, the full range of possible benefits, the advantages she had gained.

Initially, Ayla carried her kills home the way she always had, in a basket strapped to her back. Laying her prey in front of her across Whinney's back was an easy step to make. Devising a pannier, a specially made basket for the young mare to carry on her back, was the next logical move. It took a little more thought to come up with a pair of baskets on either side of the horse, attached to a wide thong tied around her middle. But with the addition of the second basket, she began to perceive some of the advantages of harnessing the strength of her four-legged friend. For the first time, she was able to bring to the cave a load that was larger than she alone could carry.

Once she understood what she could accomplish with the help of the horse, her methods changed. The entire pattern of her life changed. She stayed out longer, ranged farther afield, and returned with more produce, or plant materials, or small animals at one time. Then she spent the next few days processing the results of her forays.

Once when she noticed wild strawberries were beginning to ripen, she searched over a large area to find as many as she could. Ripe ones were few so early in the season, and far between. It was nearly dark when she started back. She had a sharp eye for landmarks which kept her from getting lost, but before she reached the valley, it was too dark to see them. When she found herself near the cave, she relied on Whinney's instincts to guide them, and on subsequent trips she often let the horse find their way back.

But afterward she took along a sleeping fur, just in case. Then one evening she decided to sleep out on the open steppes, because it was late and she thought she'd enjoy a night under the stars again. She made a fire, but, cuddled up beside Whinney in her fur, she hardly needed it for warmth. Rather it was a deterrent to nocturnal wildlife. All the steppes creatures were wary of the smell of smoke. Raging grass fires sometimes burned unchecked for days, flushing out – or roasting – everything in their path.

After the first time, it was easier to spend a night or two away from the cave, and Ayla began to explore the region east of the valley more extensively.

She wasn't quite admitting it to herself, but she was looking for the Others, hoping she would find them, and afraid that she might. In one sense, it was a way of putting off the decision to leave the valley. She knew she would soon have to make preparations to go if she was going to take up her search again, but the valley had become her home. She didn't want to leave, and she was still worried about Whinney. She didn't know what some unknown Others might do to her. If there were people living within range of her valley by horseback, she could, perhaps, observe them first before making her presence known, and learn something about them.

The Others were her people but she couldn't remember anything of her life before living with the Clan. She knew she had been found unconscious beside a river, half starved and burning with infected cave lion gashes. She was near death when Iza picked her up and carried her with them on their search for a new cave. But whenever she tried to recall anything of her earlier life, a nauseous fear overcame her along with an uneasy sense of the earth rocking beneath her feet.

The earthquake that had cast a five-year-old girl alone in the wilderness, left to the mercy of fate – and the compassion of people who were much different – had been too devastating for her young mind. She had lost all memory of the earthquake and of the people to whom she had been born. They were to her as they were to the rest of the Clan: the Others.

Like the indecisive spring, with its swift changes from icy showers to warm sun and back again, Ayla's inclination shifted from one extreme to the other. The days were not bad. While growing up, she had often spent her days roaming the countryside near the cave gathering herbs for Iza or, later, hunting, and she was accustomed to solitude then. So in the mornings and afternoons, when she was busy and active, she wanted nothing more than to stay in the sheltered valley with Whinney. But at night, in her small cave with only a fire and a horse for company, she yearned for another human being to ease her loneliness. It was more difficult being alone in the warming spring than it had been all through the long cold winter. Her thoughts dwelled on the Clan and the people she loved, and her arms ached to hold her son. Every night she decided she would begin preparations for leaving the next day, and every morning she put it off and rode Whinney on the eastern plains instead.

Her careful and extended survey made her aware not only of the territory, but of the life that inhabited the vast prairie. Herds of grazers had begun to migrate, and it set her to thinking about hunting a large animal again. As the idea took up more of her thoughts, it displaced a measure of her preoccupation with her solitary existence.

She saw horses, but none had returned to her valley. It didn't matter. She had no intention of hunting horses. It would have to be some other animal. Though she didn't know how she might use them, she began taking her spears along on her rides. The long poles were unwieldy until she devised secure holders for them, one in each basket carried on either side of the horse.

It wasn't until she noticed a herd of female reindeer that an idea began to take shape. When she was a girl, and surreptitiously teaching herself to hunt, she often found an excuse to work near the men when they were discussing hunting – their favorite topic of conversation. At the time she had been more interested in the hunting lore associated with the sling – her weapon – but was intrigued no matter what kind of hunting they discussed. At first sight, she thought the herd of small-antlered reindeer were males. Then she noticed the calves and recalled that among all the varieties of deer, only reindeer females had antlers. The recollection triggered a whole set of associated memories – including the taste of reindeer meat.

More important, she remembered the men saying that when reindeer migrate north in the spring, they travel the same route, as though following a path only they could see, and they migrate in separate groups. First the females and the young begin the trek, followed by a herd of young males. Later in the season, the old bucks come stringing along in small groups.

Ayla rode at a leisurely pace behind a herd of antlered does and their young. The summer horde of gnats and flies that liked to nest in reindeer fur, especially near eyes and ears, driving the reindeer to seek cooler climates where the insects were less abundant, were just appearing. Ayla absently brushed away the few that were buzzing around her head. When she had started out, a morning mist still clung to low-lying hollows and dips. The rising sun steamed out the deep pockets, lending an unaccustomed moisture to the steppes. The deer were used to other ungulates, and they ignored Whinney, and her human passenger, as long as they didn't get too close.

While watching them, Ayla was thinking of hunting. If the bucks follow the does, they should be coming this way soon. Maybe I could hunt a young reindeer buck; I'll know what path they will be taking. But knowing the path won't help if I can't get close enough to use my spears. Maybe I could dig a hole again. They'd just move out of the way and avoid it, and there's not enough brush to build a fence they couldn't jump. Maybe if I get them running, one will fall in.

If it does, how will I get it out? I don't want to butcher an animal in the bottom of a muddy hole again. I'll have to dry the meat out here, too, unless I can get it back to the cave.

The woman and the horse followed the herd all day, stopping occasionally to eat and rest, until the clouds turned pink in a deepening blue sky. She was farther north than she had been before, in an unfamiliar area. From a distance she'd seen a line of vegetation, and, in the fading light as the sky turned vermilion, she saw the color reflected beyond a stand of thick brush. The reindeer formed themselves into single files to pass through narrow openings to reach the water of a large stream, and they ranged along the shallow edge to drink before crossing.

Gray twilight drained the fresh green from the land while the sky blazed, as though the color stolen by night was returned in brighter hue. Ayla wondered if it was the same stream they had crossed several times before. Rather than several rills, creeks, and streams contributing to a larger body of running water, often the same river was crossed several times as it meandered across flat grasslands, turning back on itself in oxbows and breaking into channels. If her reckoning was right, from the other side of the river she could reach her valley without having to cross any other major watercourses.

The reindeer, browsing on lichen, appeared to be settling down for the night on the opposite side. Ayla decided to do the same. It was a long way back, and she'd have to cross the river at some point. She didn't want to chance getting wet and chilled with night coming on. She slid off the horse, then removed the carrying baskets and let Whinney run loose while she made camp. Dry brush and driftwood were soon blazing with the help of her firestone and flint. After a meal of starchy groundnuts wrapped in leaves to roast, and an assortment of edible greens stuffed in a giant hamster and cooked, she set up her low tent. Ayla whistled the horse to her, wanting her near, then crawled into her sleeping fur, with her head outside the tent opening.

The clouds had settled against the horizon. Above, the stars were so thick that it seemed some impossibly brilliant light was straining to break through the cracked and pitted black barrier of the night sky. Creb said they were fires in the sky, she mused, hearths of the spirit world, and the hearths of totem spirits, too. Her eyes searched the heavens until they found the pattern she was looking for. There's the home of Ursus, and over there, my totem, the Cave Lion. It's strange how they can move around the sky, but the pattern doesn't change. I wonder if they go hunting and then return to their caves.

I need to hunt a reindeer. And I'd better work it out in a hurry; the bucks will be along soon. That means they should be crossing here. Whinney smelled the presence of a four-legged predator, snorted, and moved closer to the fire and the woman.

"Is there something out there, Whinney?" Ayla asked, using sounds and signals, words not quite like any the Clan had ever used. She could make a soft nicker that was indistinguishable from the sound Whinney made. She could yip like a fox, howl like a wolf, and was quickly learning to whistle like almost any bird. Many of the sounds had become incorporated in her private language. She hardly thought about the Clan stricture against unnecessary sounds anymore. The normal facile ability of her kind to vocalize was asserting itself.

The horse moved in between the fire and Ayla, drawing security from both.

"Move over, Whinney. You're blocking the heat."

Ayla got up and added another stick of wood to the fire. She put an arm around the animal's neck, sensing Whinney's nervousness. I think I'll stay up and keep the fire going, she thought. Whatever is over there is going to be a lot more interested in those reindeer than you, my friend, as long as you stay near the fire. But it might be a good idea to have a nice big fire for a while.

She hunkered down, stared at the flames, and watched sparks fly up to melt into the dark whenever she added another log. Sounds from across the river told her when a deer, or two, had fallen prey to something, probably something feline. Her thoughts turned to hunting a deer for herself. At one point, she pushed the horse aside to get more wood, and she suddenly got an idea. Later, after Whinney was more relaxed, Ayla returned to her sleeping fur, her thoughts whirling as the idea grew and expanded to other exciting possibilities. By the time she fell asleep, the major outlines of a plan had formed, using a concept so incredible that she smiled to herself at the audacity of it.

When she crossed the river in the morning, the herd of reindeer, smaller by one or two, had departed, but she was through following them. She urged Whinney to a gallop back to the valley. There was much to prepare if she was going to be ready in time.

"That's it, Whinney. See, it's not so heavy," Ayla encouraged. The horse she was patiently guiding had an arrangement of leather straps and cords around her chest and back attached to a heavy log she was dragging. Originally, Ayla had put the weight-bearing thong across Whinney's forehead, in a manner similar to the tumpline she sometimes used when she had a heavy load to carry. She quickly realized the horse needed to move her head freely and pulled better with her chest and shoulders. Still, the young steppe horse wasn't accustomed to pulling a weight, and the harness inhibited her movements. But Ayla was determined. It was the only way her plan would work.

The idea had come to her when she was feeding the fire to fend off predators. She had shoved Whinney aside to get at the wood, thinking, with affection, of the full-grown horse who, with all her strength, had come to her for protection. A fleeting thought of wishing she were as strong had burst the next instant into a possible solution to the problem she had been turning over in her mind. Maybe the horse could haul a deer out of a pit trap.

Then she thought about processing the meat, and the novel concept grew. If she butchered the animal on the steppes, the smell of blood would draw the inevitable, and unknown, carnivores. Maybe it wasn't a cave lion she had heard attacking the reindeer, but it was some cat. Tigers, panthers, and leopards might be only half the size of cave lions, but her sling was still no defense. She could kill a lynx, but the big cats were another matter, especially out in the open. But near her cave, with a wall at her back, she might be able to drive them away. A hard-flung stone might not be fatal, but they would feel it. If Whinney could drag a deer out of the trap, why not all the way back to the valley?

But first, she had to turn Whinney into a draft horse. Ayla thought she would only have to devise a way to attach ropes or thongs from the dead reindeer to the horse. It didn't occur to her that the young mare might balk. Learning to ride had been such an unconscious process that she didn't know she would have to train Whinney to haul a load. But in fitting out the harness, she found out. After a few more tries, that included a complete revision in concept and several adjustments, the horse began to accept the idea, and Ayla decided it just might work.

As the young woman watched the filly pulling the log, she thought of the Clan and shook her head. They would have thought I was strange just for living with a horse; I wonder what the men would think now? But there were many of them, and women to dry the meat and carry it back. None of them ever had to try it alone.

Spontaneously, she hugged the horse, pressing her forehead into Whinney's neck. "You're such a help. I never knew you'd turn out to be such a help. I don't know what I'd do without you, Whinney. What if the Others are like Broud? I can't let anyone hurt you. I wish I knew what to do."

Tears filled her eyes as she held the horse; then she wiped them away and unfastened the harness. "Right now I know what to do. I have to keep an eye out for that herd of young bucks."

The reindeer bucks were not many days behind the does. They migrated at a leisurely pace. Once she spotted them, it wasn't difficult for Ayla to observe their movements and confirm that they were following the same trail, nor to gather her equipment and gallop ahead of them. She set up camp beside the river downstream of the reindeer crossing. Then, with her digging stick to loosen the ground, the sharpened hipbone to shovel and lift the dirt, and the tent hide to carry it away, she went to the crossing place of the female herd.

Two main trails and two ancillary paths cut through the brush. She chose one of the main trails for her trap, close enough to the river so that the reindeer would be using it in single file, but far enough back so she could dig a deep hole before water seeped in. By the time it was dug, the late afternoon sun was closing with the end of the earth. She whistled for the horse and rode back to see how far the herd had moved, and estimated they would reach the river sometime the next day.

When she returned to the river, light was fading, but the large gaping hole was conspicuously evident. None of those reindeer are going to fall into that hole. They'll see it and run around it, she thought, feeling discouraged. Well, it's too late to do anything tonight. Maybe I'll think of something in the morning.

But morning brought no lightening of spirit or brilliant ideas. It had clouded up overnight. She was awakened by a huge splat of water on her face to a dreary dawn of diffused light. She hadn't set up the old hide as a tent the night before, since the sky had been clear when she went to bed and the hide wet and muddy. She had spread it out to dry nearby, but it was now getting wetter. The drop in her face was only the first of many. She wrapped the sleeping fur around her and, after a search of the carrying baskets revealed she had forgotten to bring her wolverine hood, pulled an end over her head and huddled over the black wet remains of a fire.

A bright flash crackled across the eastern plains – sheet lightning that illuminated the land to the horizon. After a moment, a distant rumble growled a warning. As though it were a signal, the clouds above dumped a new deluge. Ayla picked up the wet tent hide and wrapped it around her.

Gradually daylight brought the landscape into sharper focus, driving shadows out of crevices. A gray pallor dulled the burgeoning steppes, as though the dripping nimbus cover had washed out the color. Even the sky was a nondescript shade of nothing, neither blue nor gray nor white.

Water began to pool as the thin layer of permeable soil above the level of the subterranean permafrost became saturated. Still rather near the surface, the frozen earth beneath the topsoil was as solid as the frozen wall to the north. When warming weather melted the soil deeper down, the frozen level was lowered, but the permafrost was impenetrable. There was no drainage. Under certain conditions the saturated soil could turn into treacherous quicksand bogs that had been known to swallow a full-grown mammoth. And if it happened close to the leading edge of a glacier, which shifted unpredictably, a sudden freeze could preserve the mammoth for millennia.

The leaden sky dropped large liquid blobs into the black puddle that had once been a fireplace. Ayla watched them erupt into craters, then spread out in rings, and wished she were in her dry snug cave in the valley. A bone-chilling cold was seeping up through her heavy leather foot coverings in spite of the grease she had smeared on them and the sedge grass stuffed inside. The sodden quagmire dampened her enthusiasm for hunting.

She moved up on a hummock of higher ground when the overflowing puddles cut channels of muddy water to the river, carrying twigs, sticks, grass, and last season's old leaves along. Why don't I just go back, she thought, hauling the carrying baskets with her up the rise. She peeked under the lids; the rain was running off the woven cattail leaves and the contents were dry. It's useless. I ought to load these on Whinney and go. I'll never get a reindeer. One of them isn't going to jump into that big hole because I want it to. Maybe I can get one of the old stragglers later. But their meat is tough and their hides are all scarred up.

Ayla heaved a sigh, then pulled the fur wrap and the old tent hide up around her. I've been planning and working so long, I can't let a little rain stop me. Maybe I won't get a deer; it wouldn't be the first time a hunter returned empty-handed. Only one thing is sure – I'll never get one if I don't try.

She climbed up on a rock formation when the runoff threatened to undercut the hummock, and she squinted her eyes trying to peer through the rain to see if it was slackening. There was no shelter on the flat open prairie, no large trees or overhanging cliffs. Like the shaggy dripping horse beside her, Ayla stood in the middle of the downpour patiently waiting out the rain. She hoped the reindeer were waiting, too. She wasn't ready for them. Her resolve faltered again around midmorning, but by then she just didn't feel like moving.

With the usual erratic disposition of spring, the cloud cover broke about noon, and a brisk wind sent it streaming off. By afternoon, no trace of clouds could be seen, and the bright young colors of the seasons sparkled with fresh-washed brilliance in the full glory of the sun. The ground steamed in its enthusiasm to give back the moisture to the atmosphere. The dry wind that had driven off the clouds sucked it up greedily, as though it knew it would forfeit a share to the glacier.

Ayla's determination returned, if not her confidence. She shook off the heavy, waterlogged aurochs hide and draped it over high brush, hoping this time it would dry a little. Her feet were damp, but not cold, so she ignored them – everything was damp – and went to the deer crossing. She couldn't see her hole, and her heart sank. With a closer look, she saw an overflowing muddy pool clogged with leaves, sticks, and debris where her pit had been.

Setting her jaw, she returned for a water basket to bail out the hole. On her way back, she had to look carefully to see the hole from a distance. Then suddenly, she smiled. If I have to look for it, all covered up with leaves and sticks like that, maybe a reindeer running fast won't see it either. But I can't leave the water in it – I wonder if there's some other way…

Willow switches would be long enough to go across. Why couldn't I make a cover for the pit out of willow switches, and put leaves on it. It wouldn't be strong enough to hold up a deer, but fine for leaves and twigs. Suddenly she laughed out loud. The horse neighed in response and went to her.

"Oh, Whinney! Maybe that rain wasn't so bad after all."

Ayla bailed out the pit trap, not even minding that it was a messy, dirty job. It was not as deep, but when she tried to dig it out, she found the water table was higher. It just filled up with more water. She noticed that the river was fuller when she looked at the muddy, churning stream. And, though she didn't know it, the warm rain had softened some of the subterranean frozen earth which formed the rock-hard base underlying the land.

Camouflaging the hole was not as easy as she had thought. She had to range downstream for quite a distance to collect an armload of long switches from the stunted willow brush, supplementing them with reeds. The wide mesh mat sagged in the middle when she laid it over the pit, and she had to stake the edges. When she had strewn it with leaves and sticks, it still seemed obvious to her. She was not entirely satisfied, but she hoped it would work.

Covered with mud, she plodded back downstream, glanced longingly at the river, then whistled for Whinney. The deer were not as close as she thought they would be. Had the plains been dry, they would have hurried to reach the river, but with so much water in puddles and temporary creeks, they had slowed. Ayla felt sure the herd of young bucks would not reach their accustomed crossing place before morning.

She returned to her camp and, with great relief, took off her wraps and foot coverings and waded into the river. It was cold, but she was used to cold water. She washed off the mud, then spread her wraps and footwear on the rock outcropping. Her feet were white and wrinkled from being encased in the damp leather – even her hard calloused soles had softened – and she was glad for the sun-warmed rock. It gave her a dry base for a fire, too.

Dead lower branches of pine usually stayed dry in the hardest rain, and though dwarfed to the size of brush, the pine near the river was no exception. She carried dry tinder with her, and, using a firestone and flint, she soon had a small starter fire burning. She kept it fed with twigs and small wood until the larger, slower-burning wood, leaned together in a tepee shape over the fire, dried out. She could start and keep a fire going even in rain – so long as it wasn't a downpour. It was a matter of starting small and keeping at it until the fire was established in wood large enough to dry out as it burned.

She sighed with satisfaction at her first sip of hot tea, after a meal of traveling cakes. The cakes were nourishing and filling, and they could be eaten on the move – but the hot liquid was more satisfying. Though it was still damp, she had set up the hide tent near the fire where it could dry out more while she slept. She glanced at clouds blotting out the stars in the west, and she hoped it would not rain again. Then, giving Whinney an affectionate pat, she crawled into her fur and wrapped it around her.

It was dark. Ayla lay absolutely still, ears straining to hear. Whinney moved and blew softly. Ayla propped herself up to look around. A faint glow could be seen in the eastern sky. Then she heard a sound that raised the hair on the back of her neck, and she knew what had awakened her. She had not heard them often, but she knew the marling roar from across the river was that of a cave lion. The horse nickered nervously, and Ayla got up.

"It's all right, Whinney. That lion is far away." She added wood to the fire. "It must have been a cave lion I heard the last time we were here. They must live near the other side of the river. They'll take a buck, too. I'm glad it will be daytime when we go through their territory, and I hope they'll be full of deer before we get there. I might as well make tea – then it will be time to get ready."

The glow in the eastern sky was turning rosy when the young woman finished packing everything into the carrying baskets and tightened the cinch around Whinney. She put a long spear into the holder inside each basket and fastened them firmly, then mounted, sitting forward of the carriers, between the two sharp-pointed wooden shafts sticking up in the air.

She rode back toward the herd, circling wide until she was behind the approaching reindeer. She urged her horse forward until she caught sight of the young bucks, then slowed and followed them at a comfortable pace. Whinney fell into the migrating pattern easily. Observing the herd from the vantage point of horseback, as they approached the small river, she saw the lead deer slow, then sniff at the disturbance of mud and leaves on the path of the trap. An alert nervousness passed through the deer that even the woman could sense.

The first deer had broached the brush-choked banks to the water along the alternate trail when Ayla decided it was time to act. She took a deep breath and leaned forward in anticipation of an increase of speed, which signaled her intention, then let out a loud whoop as the horse galloped toward the herd.

The deer at the rear jumped forward, ahead of the ones in front, shoving them aside. As the horse pounded at them with a screaming woman on her back, all the deer bounded ahead in fright. But they all seemed to be avoiding the path with the pit trap. Ayla's heart sank as she watched the animals skirt around, jump over, or somehow manage to sidestep the hole.

Then she noticed a disturbance in the fast-moving herd, and thought she saw a pair of antlers drop, while others bobbed and eddied around the space. Ayla yanked the spears out of their holders and slid off the horse, running as soon as her feet touched the ground. A wild-eyed reindeer was mired in the oozing mud at the bottom of the hole, trying to jump out. This time her aim was true. She plunged the heavy spear into the deer's neck and severed an artery. The magnificent stag slumped to the bottom of the pit, his struggles at an end.

It was over. Done. So quickly, and so much more easily than she had imagined. She was breathing hard, but she was not out of breath from exertion. So much thought, worry, and nervous energy had gone into the planning that the easy execution of the hunt hadn't drained it off. She was still keyed up and had no way to spend her excess – and no one with whom to share her success.

"Whinney! We did it! We did it!" Her yelling and gesticulating startled the young horse. Then she leaped on the mare's back and took off in a dead run across the plains.

Braids flying behind her, eyes feverish with excitement, a maniacal smile on her face, she was a wild woman. And all the more frightening – if there had been anyone around to be frightened – for sitting astride a wild animal, whose frantic eyes and laid-back ears betokened a frenzy of a somewhat different nature.

They made a wide circle, and, on the way back, she pulled the horse to a halt, slid down, and finished the circuit with a sprint on her own two legs. This time when she looked down into the muddy hole at the dead reindeer, she panted heavily with good reason.

After she caught her breath, she pulled the spear out of the deer's neck and whistled for the horse. Whinney was skittish, and Ayla tried to calm her with encouragement and affection before putting the harness on her. She walked the horse to the pit trap. With neither bridle nor halter for control, Ayla had to coax and urge the nervous horse. When Whinney finally settled down, the woman tied the trailing ropes of the harness to the antlers of the deer.

"Pull now, Whinney," she encouraged, "just like the log." The horse moved forward, felt the drag, and backed up. Then, in response to more urging, she moved forward again, leaning into the harness as the ropes became taut. Slowly, with Ayla helping in every way she could, Whinney dragged the reindeer out of the hole.

Ayla was elated. At the least, it meant she would not have to dress the meat in the bottom of a mucky pit. She wasn't sure how much more Whinney would be willing to do; she hoped the horse would lend her strength to get the deer back to the valley, but she would only take one step at a time. Ayla led the young mare to the water's edge, untangling the reindeer's antlers from the brush. Then she repacked the baskets so that one nested inside the other and strapped them to her back. It was an unwieldy load with the two spears sticking upright, but with the help of a large rock, she straddled the horse. Her feet were bare, but she hiked up her fur wrap to keep it out of the water and urged Whinney into the river.

It was normally a shallow, wide, fordable part of the river – one of the reasons the reindeer had instinctively chosen the place to cross – but the rain had raised the water level. Whinney managed to keep her footing in the swift current, and, once the deer was in the water, it floated easily. Pulling the animal across the water had one benefit Ayla hadn't thought of. It washed away the mud and blood, and by the time they reached the other side, the reindeer was clean.

Whinney balked a little when she felt the drag again, but Ayla was down by then and helped haul the deer a short distance up the beach. Then she untied the ropes. The deer was one step closer to the valley, but before they went any farther, Ayla had a few tasks yet to do. She slit the deer's throat with her sharp flint knife, then made a straight cut from the anus up the belly, chest, and neck, to the throat. She held the knife in her hand with her index finger along the back and the cutting edge up, inserted just under the skin. If the first cut was made cleanly, not cutting into the meat, skinning would be much easier later.

The next cut went deeper, to remove the entrails. She cleaned the usable parts – stomach, intestines, bladder – and put them back into the abdominal cavity along with the edible parts.

Curled around the inside of one of the baskets was a large grass mat. She opened it out on the ground, then, pushing and grunting, she moved the deer onto it. She folded the mat over the carcass and wrapped it securely with ropes, then attached the ropes from Whinney's harness. She repacked the baskets, putting a spear in each one, and fastened the long shafts firmly in place. Then, feeling rather pleased with herself, she climbed on the horse's back.

About the third time she had to get down to free the load from hindering obstructions – grass tussocks, rocks, brush – she was no longer feeling so pleased. Finally she just walked beside the horse, coaxing her along until the trussed-up deer snagged on something, then going back to extricate it. It wasn't until she stopped to put her footwear back on that she noticed the pack of hyenas following her. The first stones from her sling only showed the wily scavengers her range, which they stayed just beyond.

Stinking ugly animals, she thought, wrinkling her nose and shuddering in disgust. She knew they also hunted – only too well. Ayla had killed one such scavenger with her sling – and given her secret away. The clan knew she hunted, and she had to be punished for it. Brun had no choice; it was the Clan way.

Hyenas bothered Whinney, too. It was more than her instinctual fear of predators. She never forgot the pack of hyenas that attacked her after Ayla killed her dam. And Whinney was edgy enough. Getting the deer back to the cave was turning out to be more of a problem than Ayla had anticipated. She hoped they would make it before nightfall.

She stopped to rest at a place where the river wound back on itself. All the stops and starts were wearing. She filled her waterbag and a large waterproof basket with water, then took the basket to Whinney, who was still attached to the dusty bundle of deer. She took out a traveling cake and sat down on a rock to eat it. She was staring at the ground, not really seeing it, trying to think of an easier way to get her kill back to the valley. It took a while before the disturbance of the dust penetrated her consciousness, but when it did, it aroused her curiosity. The earth was trampled, the grass bent down, and the tracks were fresh. Some great commotion had occurred here recently. She got up to examine the tracks closer, and gradually pieced together the story.

From the spoor in the dried mud near the river, she could tell they were in a long-established territory of cave lions. She thought there must be a small valley nearby, with sheer rocky walls and a snug cave where a lioness had given birth to a pair of healthy cubs earlier in the year. This had been a favorite resting place. The cubs had been playfully fighting over a bloody piece of meat, worrying loose small pieces with milk teeth, while the sated males lolled in the morning sun, and sleek females indulgently watched the babes at play.

The huge predators were lords of their domain. They had nothing to fear, no reason to anticipate an assault by their prey. Reindeer, under normal circumstances, would never have strayed so close to their natural predators, but the whooping, screaming horse-riding human had whipped them into a panic. The swift river had not stopped the stampeding herd. They had plunged across, and, before they knew it, they were in the midst of a pride of lions. Both were caught unawares. The fleeing deer, realizing too late that they had run from one danger into another far worse, scattered in all directions.

Ayla followed the tracks and came upon the conclusion of the story. Too late to dodge the flying hooves, one cub had been trampled by the frightened deer.

The woman kneeled beside the baby cave lion, and with the experienced hand of a medicine woman she felt for signs of life. The cub was warm, probably had broken ribs. He was near death, but he still breathed. From signs in the dirt, Ayla knew the lioness had found her baby and nudged him to get up, to no avail. Then, following the way of all animals – save the one that walked on two legs – who must allow the weak to die if the rest are to survive, she turned her attention to her other offspring and moved on.

Only in the animal called human did survival depend on more than strength and fitness. Already puny compared with their carnivorous competitors, mankind depended on cooperation and compassion to survive.

Poor baby, Ayla thought. Your mother couldn't help you, could she? It wasn't the first time her heart had been moved by a hurt and helpless creature. For a moment, she thought about taking the cub back with her to the cave, then quickly dismissed the idea. Brun and Creb had allowed her to bring small animals to the clan's cave for her to treat when she was learning the healing arts, though the first time had caused quite a stir. But Brun had not allowed a wolf pup. The lion cub was nearly as big as a wolf already. Someday he would approach Whinney in size.

She got up and looked down at the dying cub, shaking her head, then went to lead Whinney again, hoping the load she was dragging wouldn't get stuck too soon. When they started, Ayla noticed the hyenas moving to follow them. She reached for a stone, then saw that the pack had been distracted. It was only reasonable. It was the niche nature had allotted them. They had found the lion cub. But Ayla wasn't reasonable where hyenas were concerned.

"Get out, you stinking animals! Leave that baby alone!"

Ayla ran back, hurling stones. A yelp let her know one had found its mark. The hyenas backed out of range again as the woman advanced upon them, full of righteous wrath.

There! That will keep them away, she thought, standing with her feet apart, protectively straddling the cub. Then a wry grin of disbelief crossed her face. What am I doing? Why am I keeping them away from a lion cub that's going to die anyway? If I let the hyenas at him, they won't bother me anymore.

I can't take him with me. I couldn't even carry him. Not all the way. I've got to worry about getting the reindeer back. It's ridiculous to think of it.

Is it? What if Iza had left me? Creb said I was put in her path by the spirit of Ursus, or maybe the Cave Lion spirit, because no one else would have stopped for me. She couldn't bear to see someone sick or hurt without trying to help. It's what made her such a good medicine woman.

I'm a medicine woman. She trained me. Maybe this cub was put in my path for me to find. The first time I brought that little rabbit into the cave because it was hurt, she said it showed I was meant to be a medicine woman. Well, here's a baby that's hurt. I can't just leave him to those ugly hyenas.

But how am I going to get this baby to the cave? A broken rib could puncture a lung if I'm not careful. I'll have to wrap him before I can move him. That wide thong I used for Whinney's puller should work. I have some with me.

Ayla whistled for the horse. Surprisingly, the load Whinney was dragging didn't snag on anything, but the young mare was edgy. She didn't like being in cave lion territory; her kind, too, were their natural prey. She had been nervous since the hunt, and stopping every few moments to untangle the heavy load, which restricted her movement, had not contributed to calming her.

But Ayla, concentrating on the baby cave lion, wasn't paying attention to the horse's needs. After she wrapped the young carnivore's ribs, the only way she could think of getting him to the cave was to put him on Whinney's back.

It was more than the filly could take. As the woman picked up the huge young feline and tried to place him on her back, the young mare reared. In a panic, she bucked and pitched, trying to rid herself of the weights and contraptions strapped to her, then vaulted across the steppes. The deer, wrapped in the grass mat, bounced and jogged behind the horse, then caught on a rock. The restraint added to Whinney's panic, bringing on a renewed frenzy of bucking.

Suddenly, the leather thongs snapped, and with the jolt the carrying baskets, overbalanced by the long heavy spear shafts, tilted up. In open-mouthed astonishment, Ayla watched the overwrought horse race furiously ahead. The contents of the carrying baskets were dumped on the ground, except for the securely fastened spears. Still attached to the baskets cinched around the mare, the two long shafts were dragging along behind her, points down, without hindering her speed at all.

Ayla saw the possibilities immediately – she'd been racking her brain trying to think of a way to get the deer carcass and the lion cub back to the cave. Waiting for Whinney to settle down took a little more time. Ayla worried that the horse might harm herself, whistled and called. She wanted to go after her, but was afraid to leave either deer or lion cub to the tender mercies of hyenas. The whistling did have an effect. It was a sound Whinney associated with affection, security, and response. Making a large circle, she veered back toward the woman.

When the exhausted and lathered young mare finally drew near, Ayla could only hug her with relief. She untied the harness and cinch and examined her carefully to make sure she was unhurt. Whinney leaned against the woman, making soft nickers of distress, her forelegs spraddled, breathing hard and quivering.

"You rest, Whinney," Ayla said when the horse stopped shaking and seemed to calm down. "I need to work on this anyway."

It didn't occur to the woman to be angry because the horse had bucked, run away, and dumped her things. She didn't think of the animal as belonging to her, or under her command. Rather, Whinney was a friend, a companion. If the horse panicked, she had good reason. Too much had been asked of her. Ayla felt she would have to learn the horse's limits, not attempt to teach her better behavior. To Ayla, Whinney helped of her own free will, and she took care of the horse out of love.

The young woman picked up what she could find of the basket's contents, then reworked the cinch-basket-harness arrangement, fastening the two spears the way they had fallen, points down. She attached the grass mat, which had been wrapped around the deer, to both poles, thus creating a carrier platform between them – behind the horse but off the ground. She lashed the deer to it, then carefully tied down the unconscious cave lion cub. After she relaxed, Whinney seemed more accepting of the cinches and harnesses, and she stood quietly while Ayla made adjustments.

Once the baskets were in place, Ayla checked the cub again and got on Whinney's back. As they headed toward the valley, she was astounded at the efficiency of the new means of transporting. With just the ends of the spears dragging on the ground, not a dead weight snagged by every obstacle, the horse was able to haul the load with much greater ease, but Ayla did not draw an easy breath until she reached the valley and her cave.

She stopped to give Whinney a rest and a drink, and she checked on the baby cave lion. He still breathed, but she wasn't sure he would live. Why was he put in my path? she wondered. She had thought of her totem the moment she saw the cub – did the spirit of the Cave Lion want her to take care of him?

Then another thought occurred to her. If she hadn't decided to take the cub with her, she would never have thought of the travois. Had her totem chosen that way to show her? Was it a gift? Whatever it was, Ayla was sure the cub had been put in her path for a reason, and she would do everything in her power to save his life.