"How far is it to the whirlpool?" Jondalar asked.
"I'll scratch out a map for you," Laduni said, taking out his flint knife. "Lanalia, give me that piece of bark. Maybe some of the others can add some landmarks farther on. Allowing for river crossings and hunting along the way, you should make it to the place where the river turns south by summer."
"Summer," Jondalar mused. "I'm so tired of ice and snow, I can hardly wait until summer. I could use some warmth." He noticed Lanalia's leg next to his again, and put his hand on her thigh.
3
The first stars pierced the evening sky as Ayla carefully picked her way down the steep rocky side of the ravine. As soon as she cleared the edge, the wind ceased abruptly, and she stopped for a moment to savor its absence. But the walls cut off the failing light as well. By the time she reached the bottom, the dense brush along the small river was a tangled silhouette seen against the moving reflection of the myriad shining points above.
She took a deep refreshing drink from the river, then felt her way into the deeper black near the wall. She didn't bother with the tent, just spread out her fur and rolled up in it, feeling more secure with a wall at her back than she had on the open plains under her tent. She watched a gibbous moon show its nearly full face over the edge of the ravine before she fell asleep.
She woke up screaming!
She bolted upright – stark terror charging through her, pounding in her temples, and racing her heart – and stared at vague shapes in the black-on-black void in front of her. She jumped as a sharp crack and a simultaneous flash of light blinded her. Shuddering, she watched a tall pine, struck by the searing bolt, split and slowly, still clinging to its severed half, fall to the ground. It was surreal, the flaming tree lighting its own death scene and casting grotesque shadows on the wall behind.