A flood of liquid notes brought her attention to another pair of birds who had no qualms at all about getting wet. The water ouzels were bobbing at each other in courtship display, but she always wondered how they could walk underwater without getting their plumage waterlogged. When she went back to the open field, Whinney was grazing the new green shoots. She smiled again at a pair of brown wrens scolding her with their chick-chick when she passed too close to their shrub. Once beyond it, they changed to a loud clear flowing song that was sung first by one, and then by the other in an alternating response.
She stopped and sat on a log listening to the sweet songs of several different birds, and then was surprised when a bush warbler imitated the whole chorus in one burst of melody. She sucked in her breath at the virtuosity of the small creature, and surprised herself with the whistling sound she produced. A green bunting followed her with his characteristic note that sounded like an indrawn whistle, and the mimicking bush warbler repeated it again.
Ayla was delighted. It seemed she had become part of the avian chorus, and she tried again. Pursing her lips, she sucked in her breath but managed to produce only a faint windy whistle. The next time she got more volume, but filled her lungs so full of air that she had to expel it, making a loud whistle. It was much closer to the sounds of the birds. With the next effort, she only blew air through her lips, and she had no better luck with several more tries. She went back to the indrawn whistle and had more success making a whistling sound, though it lacked volume.
She kept trying, pulling in and blowing out, and occasionally she produced a sharp sound. She became so involved with the attempts that she didn't notice Whinney perking up her ears whenever the piercing whistle was made. The horse didn't know how to respond, but she was curious and took a few steps toward the woman.
Ayla saw the young mare approaching with a quizzical forward cocking of her ears. "Are you surprised that I can make bird sounds, Whinney? So am I. I didn't know I could sing like a bird. Well, maybe not quite like a bird, but if I keep practicing, I think I could come close. Let me see if I can do it again."
She drew in a breath, pursed her lips, and, concentrating on it, let out a long solid whistle. Whinney tossed her head, whinnied, and pranced to her. Ayla stood up and hugged the horse's neck, suddenly realizing how much she had grown. "You're so big, Whinney. Horses grow so fast, you're almost a grown woman horse. How fast can you run now?" Ayla gave her a sharp slap on the rump. "Come on, Whinney, run with me," she motioned, starting across the field as fast as she could.
The horse outdistanced her in a few paces and raced ahead, stretching out as she galloped. Ayla followed after, running just because it felt good. She pushed herself until she could go no farther, panting to a breathless halt. She watched the horse gallop down the long valley, then veer around in a wide circle and come cantering back. I wish I could run like you, she thought. Then we could both run together wherever we wanted. I wonder if I'd be happier if I were a horse instead of a human? I wouldn't be alone then.
I'm not alone. Whinney is good company, even if she isn't human. She's all I have, and I'm all she has. But wouldn't it be wonderful if I could run like her.
The filly was lathered when she returned, and made Ayla laugh when she rolled in the meadow, kicking her legs up in the air and making little noises of pleasure. When she got up, she shook herself and went back to grazing. Ayla kept watching her, thinking how exciting it would be to run like a horse, then fell to practicing her whistle again. The next time she managed a shrill piercing sound, Whinney looked up and cantered to her again. Ayla hugged the young horse, rather pleased that she had come at the whistle, but she couldn't get the thought of running with the horse out of her mind.
Then an idea struck her.
Such an idea would not have occurred to her if she hadn't lived with the animal all winter, thinking of her as a friend and companion. And certainly she would not have acted on such a thought if she were still living with the Clan. But Ayla had become more used to following her impulses.
Would she mind? Ayla thought. Would she let me? She led the horse to the log and climbed up on it, then put her arms around the horse's neck and lifted a leg. Run with me, Whinney. Run and take me with you, she thought, then straddled the horse.
The young mare was unaccustomed to weight on her back, and she flattened her ears back and pranced nervously. But, though the weight was unfamiliar, the woman was not, and Ayla's arms around her neck had a calming influence. Whinney almost reared to throw the weight off, then tried to run away from it instead. Breaking into a gallop, she raced down the field with Ayla clinging to her back.
But the young horse had already had a good run, and life for her in the cave was more sedentary than was usual. Though she had grazed the standing hay of the valley, she hadn't had a herd to keep up with or predators to run from.
And she was still young. It wasn't long before she slowed, then stopped, her sides heaving and her head drooping.
The woman slid off the horse's back. "Whinney, that was wonderful!" Ayla motioned, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She lifted the drooping muzzle with both hands and laid her cheek on the animal's nose; then she tucked the mare's head under her arm in a gesture of affection which she hadn't used since the horse was small. It was a special embrace, saved for special occasions.
The ride was a thrill she could hardly contain. The very idea of going along with a horse when it galloped filled Ayla with a sense of wonder. She had never dreamed such a thing was possible. No one had.
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.