Wolf pressed against the side of her leg and moved somewhat in front of her, suspiciously defensive she could feel the vibration of his barely audible growl.
When the wolf appeared, Ayla heard sounds of agitation and alarm from the ledge in front of the cave-if it could be called a cave. That throng of people would make anyone nervous. She considered giving Whinney her head her horse was more accustomed to large groups of strangers now, and was not usually high-strung, but she seemed nervous, too. Ayla held the halter rope of the brown male close, but gave the dun-yellow mare a long lead, and stood between them. She was no longer in heat, but residual odors still clung from her encounter with the herd stallion. In addition to the tension of seeing strange people, the young brown horse was still agitated around his dam. She nodded, lifted her leg over, slid down from the mare’s back, and took the rope. “Ayla, will you hold Racer’s rope? He seems nervous,” he said, then looked up at the ledge. He turned around and noticed that she was hanging back. He was neither reluctant nor uneasy, but he hesitated for a moment, holding the stallion’s halter rope. The tall man jumped down from the back of the young stallion. It’s not just them, she told herself, it’s always that way in the beginning. She had seen that reluctance to greet them from other people they had met on their Journey. She watched from the bottom of the path as more people crowded together on the ledge, staring down, many more than she thought there would be. The young woman could almost feel their edgy fear. No one made a gesture of welcome, and some held spears in positions of readiness if not actual threat. People were gathering on the limestone ledge, looking down at them warily. Auel Crown Publishers Copyright © 2002 Jean M.
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