Jean Auel - The Land of Painted Caves

'Why not?' Joharran asked, his frown turning into a scowl.

'Those lions are resting too close to the home of the Third Cave,' Ayla said quietly. 'There will always be lions around, but if they are comfortable here, they might think of it as a place to return when they want to rest, and would see any people who come near as prey, especially children or elders. They could be a danger to the people who live at Two Rivers Rock, and the other nearby Caves, including the Ninth.'

Joharran took a deep breath, then looked at his fair-haired brother. 'Your mate is right, and you as well, Jondalar. Perhaps now is the time to let those lions know they are not welcome to settle down so close to our homes.'

'This would be a good time to use spear-throwers so we can hunt from a safer distance. Several hunters here have been practising,' Jondalar said. It was for just this sort of thing that he had wanted to come home and show everyone the weapon he had developed. 'We may not even have to kill one, just injure a couple to teach them to stay away.'

'Jondalar,' Ayla said, softly. Now she was getting ready to differ with him, or at least to make a point that he should consider. She looked down again, then raised her eyes and looked directly at him. She wasn't afraid to speak her mind to him, but she wanted to be respectful. 'It's true that a spear-thrower is a very good weapon. With it, a spear can be thrown from a much greater distance than one thrown by hand, and that makes it safer. But safer is not safe. A wounded animal is unpredictable. And one with the strength and speed of a cave lion, hurt and wild with pain, could do anything. If you decide to use these weapons against those lions, they should not be used to injure, but to kill.'

'She's right, Jondalar,' Joharran said.

Jondalar frowned at his brother, then grinned sheepishly. 'Yes she is, but, as dangerous as they are, I always hate to kill a cave lion if I don't have to. They are so beautiful, so lithe and graceful in the way they move. Cave lions don't have much to be afraid of. Their strength gives them confidence.' He glanced at Ayla with a glint of pride and love. 'I always thought Ayla's Cave Lion totem was right for her.' Discomfited by showing his strong inner feelings for her, a hint of a flush coloured his cheeks. 'But I do think this is a time when spear-throwers could be very useful.'

Joharran noticed that most of the travellers had crowded closer. 'How many are with us that can use one?' he asked his brother.

'Well, there's you, and me, and Ayla, of course,' Jondalar said, looking at the group. 'Rushemar has been practising a lot and is getting pretty good. Solaban's been busy making some ivory handles for tools for some of us and hasn't been working at it as much, but he's got the basics.'

'I've tried a spear-thrower a few times, Joharran. I don't have one of my own, and I'm not very good at it,' Thefona said, 'but I can throw a spear without one.'

'Thank you, Thefona, for reminding me,' Joharran said. 'Nearly everyone can handle a spear without a spear-thrower, including women. We shouldn't forget that.' Then he directed his comments to the group at large. 'We need to let those lions know that this is not a good place for them. Whoever wants to go after them, using a spear by hand or with the thrower, come over here.'

Ayla started to loosen her baby's carrying blanket. 'Folara, would you watch Jonayla for me?' she said, approaching Jondalar's younger sister, 'unless you'd rather stay and hunt cave lions.'

'I've gone out on drives, but I never was very good with a spear, and I don't seem to be much better with the thrower,' Folara said. 'I'll take Jonayla.' The infant was now thoroughly awake, and when the young woman held out her arms for the baby, she willingly went to her aunt.

'I'll help her,' Proleva said to Ayla. Joharran's mate also had a baby girl in a carrying blanket, just a few days older than Jonayla, and an active boy who could count six years to watch out for as well. 'I think we should take all the children away from here, perhaps back behind the jutting rock, or up to the Third Cave.'

'That's a very good idea,' Joharran said, 'hunters stay here. The rest of you go back, but go slowly. No sudden moves. We want those cave lions to think we are just milling around, like a herd of aurochs. And let's keep together. They will probably go after anyone alone.'

Ayla turned back toward the four-legged hunters and saw many lion faces looking in their direction, very alert. She watched the animals move around, and began to see some distinguishing characteristics, helping her to count them. She watched a big female casually turn around — no, a male, she realised when she saw his male parts from the backside. She'd forgotten for a moment that the males here didn't have manes. The male cave lions near her valley to the east, including one that she knew quite well, did have some hair around the head and neck, but it was sparse. This is a big pride, she thought, more than two handsful of counting words, possibly as many as three, including the young ones.

While she watched, the big lion took a few more steps into the field, then disappeared into the grass. It was surprising how well the tall thin stalks could hide animals that were so huge.

Though the bones and teeth of cave lions — felines that liked to den in caves, which preserved the bones they left behind — were the same shape as their descendants that would someday roam the distant lands of the continent far to the south, they were more than half again, some nearly twice, as large. In winter they grew a thick winter fur that was so pale, it was almost white, practical concealment in snow for predators who hunted all year long. Their summer coat, though still pale, was more tawny, and some of the cats were still shedding, giving them a rather tattered, mottled look.

Ayla watched the group of mostly women and children break off from the hunters and head back to the cliff they had passed, along with a few young men and women with spears held in readiness whom Joharran had assigned to guard them. Then she noticed that the horses seemed particularly nervous, and thought she should try to calm them. She signalled Wolf to come with her as she walked toward the horses.

Whinney seemed glad to see both her and Wolf when they approached. The horse had no fear of the big canine predator. She had watched Wolf grow up from a tiny little ball of fuzzy fur, had helped to raise him. Ayla had a concern, though. She wanted the horses to go back behind the stone wall with the women and children. She could give Whinney many commands with words and signals, but she wasn't sure how to tell the mare to go with the others and not follow her.

Racer whinnied when she neared; he seemed especially agitated. She greeted the brown stallion affectionately and patted and scratched the young grey filly; then she hugged the sturdy neck of the dun-yellow mare that had been her only friend during the first lonely years after she left the Clan.

Whinney leaned against the young woman with her head over Ayla's shoulder in a familiar position of mutual support. She talked to the mare with a combination of Clan hand signs and words, and animal sounds that she imitated — the special language she had developed with Whinney when she was a foal, before Jondalar taught her to speak his language. Ayla told the mare to go with Folara and Proleva. Whether the horse understood, or just knew that it would be safer for her and her foal, Ayla was glad to see her retreat to the cliff with the other mothers when she pointed her in that direction.

But Racer was nervous and edgy, more so after the mare started walking away. Even grown, the young stallion was accustomed to following his dam, especially when Ayla and Jondalar were riding together, but this time he did not immediately go with her. He pranced and tossed his head and neighed. Jondalar heard him, looked over at the stallion and the woman, then joined them. The young horse nickered at the man as he approached. With two females in his small 'herd', Jondalar wondered if Racer's protective stallion instincts were beginning to make themselves felt. The man talked to him, stroked and scratched his favourite places to settle him, then told him to go with Whinney and slapped him on the rump. It was enough to get him started in the right direction.