Free The Valley of Horses by Jean M. Auel Page A

wood accumulated. She smelled woodsmoke and saw the notch blacken before she saw a wisp of smoke, encouraging her to continue though her arms ached. Finally, a small glowing coal burned through the platform and dropped onto the nest of dry tinder beneath it. The next stage was even more critical. If the ember died, she’d have to begin all over again.
    She bent over so that her face was so near the coal she could feel the heat, and began to blow on it. She watched it grow brighter with each breath, then die down again as she gulped another mouthful of air. She held tiny curled shavings to the bit of smoldering wood and watched them brighten and turn black without igniting. Then a tiny flame burst out. She blew harder, fed it more shavings, and, when she had a small pile burning, added a few sticks of kindling.
    She rested only after the large driftwood logs were blazing and the fire was firmly established. She gathered a fewmore pieces and piled them nearby; then with another, slightly larger notched tool, she shaved the bark off the green branch she had used to dig up the wild carrots. She planted the forked branches upright on either side of the fire so that the pointed branch fit comfortably between them and then turned to skinning the hare.
    By the time the fire had died down to hot coals, the hare was skewered and ready for roasting. She started to wrap the entrails in the hide to dispose of it as she had done while traveling, then changed her mind.
    I could use the fur, she thought. It would only take a day or so.…
    She rinsed the wild carrots in the river—and the blood off her hands—and wrapped them in plantain leaves. The large fibrous leaves were edible, but she couldn’t help thinking of their other use as sturdy, healing bandages for cuts or bruises. She put the leaf-wrapped wild carrots next to the coals.
    She sat back and relaxed for a moment, then decided to stake out the furry hide. While her meal cooked, she scraped away the blood vessels, hair follicles, and membranes from the inside of the skin with the broken scraper, and thought about making a new one.
    She hummed a tuneless crooning murmur while she worked, and her thoughts wandered. Maybe I should stay here a few days, finish this hide. Need to make some tools anyway. Could try to reach that hole in the wall upriver. That hare is starting to smell good. A cave would keep me out of the rain—might not be usable, though.
    She got up and turned the spit, then started working from a different side. I can’t stay too long. I’ve got to find people before winter. She stopped scraping the skin, her attention suddenly focused on the inner turmoil that was never far from the surface of her mind. Where are they? Iza said there were many Others on the mainland. Why can’t I find them? What am I going to do, Iza? Without warning, tears welled up and overflowed. Oh, Iza, I miss you so much. And Creb. And Uba, too. And Durc, my baby … my baby. I wanted you so much, Durc, and it was so hard. And you’re not deformed, just a little different. Like I am.
    No, not like me. You’re Clan, you’re just going to be a little taller, and your head looks a little different. Someday you’ll be a great hunter. And good with the sling. And run faster than anyone. You’ll win all the races at the ClanGathering. Maybe not the wrestling, you might not be that strong, but you’ll be strong.
    But who will play the game of making sounds with you? And who will make the happy noises with you?
    I’ve got to stop this, she scolded herself, wiping tears away with the back of her hand. I should be glad you have people who love you, Durc. And when you’re older, Ura will come and be your mate. Oda promised to train her to be a good woman for you. Ura isn’t deformed, either. She’s just different, like you. I wonder, will I ever find a mate?
    Ayla jumped up to check on her meal, moving just to be doing something to take her mind off her thoughts. The meat was more rare