The Thinking Rocks (8 page)

Ceola wanted to believe him. 
She still felt angry but now she wasn't angry with him.  His explanation
seemed true. How could Sorou know to come here tonight? Cano couldn't be stupid
enough to plan to meet Sorou at the same time and place he was meeting
me.  Someone other than Cano must have planned it.  Someone had
helped Sorou with this plan, someone who wanted Cano and me to stay
apart.  He was telling the truth, and he said he loved me.  She freed
one of her hands, slid it up behind his head, and pulled it down to her. 
She put her lips close to his ear and said, "I believe you." 
Ceola could feel his heart pounding next hers. Slowly, two sank to the ground
as one. This time everything was right.  There was a blending of the two
into one.  They rested after the first time, in each other’s arms. 
The smell of the river, the gentle whispering of the leaves on the trees, and
the drifting shadows of the clouds all helped make it perfect.  This was a
night to remember.  They came together two more times that night, and each
time the joy of being together forged a stronger bond.  Neither of them
knew it, but as a testimony to their love, another being was created.

Saber-Tooth

He was lying outside of his
den in the morning sun.  The sun was warm, and there were scattered
clouds, which spread soft shadows across the ground.  He was grooming
himself with his long tongue. His eight-inch fangs left lines along his pelt,
sometimes one line, and sometimes two tracks.  He stretched his long
muscled tawny body to its full length.  He lay there half dozing in the
warm sun.  First, he flexed the prehensile claws on his front legs, and
then he repeated the actions with his hind legs. A low growl, almost a groan rumbled
up to his throat. The faint smell of mammoth drifted up to him.  He opened
his pale yellow eyes slowly and then tested the air for more information on the
mammoths.  They were miles away but not so far as too ensure their
safety.  He knew that he was no match for an adult mammoth, but then only
foolish animals attacked the bigger animals. The ones to attack were the
smaller ones that made mistakes.  The meat was better, and they were less
trouble to kill.  Speed was important in killing, a sloppy kill attached
attention and the mature would come to protect members of the herd.

He dropped his head to
the ground and lay there thinking about the hunt last night; he had killed a
mammoth calf.  The calf was three times his size, but it was young and
foolish.  He had brought it down easily.  The calf had strayed from
the herd and from its mother. He lay in the deep shadows of the night for
hours, watching the heard feed.  By studying their movements, he could
tell which of the huge beasts were asleep on their feet.  When the time
was right, he came out of the darkness like a swift silent shadow.  The
distance was only a hundred yards to the calf, and he covered it in a few
seconds.  An unnamed instinct caused the calf to bolt at the last instant,
but it was too late.  His charge had caught the calf in the rear quarters
where he laid her open with long bloody lines from his front claws. The real
damage came next when he used his long fangs to rip the tendons in her rear leg
to stop her from running.  With a stabbing action that turned into a
ripping action, he hamstrung her.  The calf half-screamed and
half-trumpeted for help.  The mother answered the call instantly; she came
pounding across the meadow to save her calf.  It was amazing how fast they
could move when danger reared its head.  She was a fearful sight as she
thundered toward her calf.  Her ears were back, and she had her head down
low, her tusks were carried as twin lances grazing the tops of the meadow
grasses.  Her hair was streaming back in waves as she bellowed her
rage.  Nevertheless, it was too late to save the calf, the saber tooth had
sprung to the front of the calf and sunk his huge bloody fangs through the
thick skin into the throat and pierced the jugular vein. The hot salty blood
had gushed out of the wounds for three feet.  Each beat of the heart
gushed more of the calf's life out onto the ground.  The big cat had
little time to survey his kill.

The mother had arrived
on the scene.  He rolled away just in time to be missed by the mother’s tusks,
as she was very intent upon having him pay for the attack on the calf. 
She came to a screeching halt, pivoted in an amazingly short distance, and came
for him again.  He roared at her and struck out with a one-two combination
of swinging claws; he was ready to leap on her, but couldn't see a way past the
tusks.  Even though his claws cut her trunk deeply, she was beyond pain
and pressed her attack.  Her tusks were six and a half feet long and even
though they didn't penetrate his body she was able to get them under his body
and flipped his 500 pounds as though he were a feather.  He was thrown
twenty yards and landed in a heap, but he rolled to his feet.  Although he
was shaken up, he wasn't hurt.  The rest of the mammoth herd was arriving
and the saber tooth decided it would be best to leave as quickly as
possible.  He spun around and dashed into the brush.  As fast as the
mammoths were in a charge, they were no matches for the big-shouldered cat who
was trying to avoid being turned into a flat cat.  He knew the herd would
follow him into the brush, and they did. The ground shook and trees went down
before the charging herd.  The night was torn asunder by their anguished
trumpeting.  He sprang from place to place always heading up; he knew that
his safety lay in the heights where the mammoths couldn't climb.  In a few
minutes, they gave up pursuit, but they continued to bellow and tear up the
brush in frustration.  The hills and rocks were his domain and the plains
and meadows were the range of the mammoths. He knew he must stay up high until
they moved on, he was sure they would track him with their long noses if he
came down to open country. 
 
He
continued to climb higher toward his den.  It was high above the valley
and had a ledge where he could sun himself.  Nothing from below could see
him unless he looked over the ledge and down into the valley.

He
stretched again and resumed grooming himself with long slow strokes of his
tongue.  Most of his day was spent sleeping and grooming. When he was
hunting, he would spend about four night hours looking for prey.  He only
hunted when hungry and could go for days without food.  When he wasn't
hungry he explored the country around him and watched how the other animals
lived and died.  There was little for him to fear in this land, but death
came to all creatures.  Cunning was a word he didn't know, but it was as
much a part of his life as were his speed and strength.  He was by
nature’s decree a hunter, and this in itself forced the development of intelligence. 
The hunted lived by surviving attacks, the hunter by planning the
attacks.  He yawned again. When the sun started to set, he would return to
his kill and feed.  Others would be feeding on his kill, but he knew how
to take care of them.

She Wolf

The she-wolf was constantly
hungry.  It didn't seem that she could kill enough to satisfy her
body.  That wasn't true.  She could kill enough for herself, but the
real problems were the five puppies she was raising.  They were always
hungry.  Their eyes were open, and they had needle sharp teeth, but after
only five weeks, they were still far from being able to survive on their
own.  Her den was dug into the bank of a low hill and hidden in the
brush.  She knew she would have to travel farther today in search of food. 
She had over hunted the area around the den.  The puppies were safe deep
in the den and she had just fed them, so they should remain there until she
returned.

She tested the wind and picked up the
scent of mammoth.  She would see if there was food in that
direction.  Moving off quickly, she slid into a mile-eating lope; her body
seemed to float over the ground.  She moved with eyes scanning the
landscape, ears erect and listening, and her nose constantly sampling the air
for information. After a few miles she noticed vultures circling high in the
sky, she paused and tested the air. There was the faint hint of death in the
air. She changed her course and moved toward the circling vultures.  Where
there are vultures, death will be found.  As she neared the site of their
interest, she saw some of them feeding on a dead mammoth calf.  Rechecking
the air for signs of danger, she could only detect the stale scent of the saber
tooth cat and the rotten smell of the vultures.  The cat had probably killed
the calf. She continued her survey of the kill and the brush around it. 
There was no apparent danger so she walked into the meadow toward the dead
calf.  The sun had not started to set; she knew that the saber tooth would
return to the kill when it was dark.

A huge black vulture on the dead
calf's shoulder was the first to notice her approach.  It spread its
wings, hunched its back, and then snaking its grotesque head in and out, it
started squawking a warning to stay away.  The hide of the calf was quite
thick and was covered with a coat of coarse hair.  The vultures were
having a difficult time getting at something to eat.  Most of them ignored
the warning and continued tearing at a hole in the calf's side.  Some of
them had been able to drag out a slimy rope of intestines and were fighting
over the treasure.  Others were working on the hole, trying to enlarge it.

The she-wolf got within twenty yards
of the calf.  The smell of the vultures was almost more than her sensitive
nose could stand.  The only thing that kept her there was the hunger in
her belly and knowing that her pups needed food.  The vultures were filthy
creatures that smelled of the rotted meat they ate.  They vomited
frequently and clambered around with slim dripping from their beaks and
feet.   They were dangerous with their huge, jagged talons, sharp
beaks and their ability to fly. Their long necks were without feathers and
appeared to be snakelike with a nightmare head.  As dangerous as they
could be, they rarely would stand and fight.  They were flock creatures
and liked to stay together at kills.

She knew that if she could get two or
three of them to fly the others would follow.  She circled the calf
looking for a likely place to attack the flock.  The birds were becoming
more agitated as she drew nearer.  Three of them dropped to the ground and
spread their wings and made short hopping attacks at her.  She paid them
little attention because she knew they wouldn't carry through on the
attack.  They would only attack an animal that was near death or
dead.  They were trying to protect their find.  The she-wolf spotted
a likely looking area where the birds were busy feeding and paying little
attention to her.  She began barking loudly and snarling as she charged
the carcass.  The birds started squawking, and then began leaping into the
air.  The beating of their wings was mingled with angry insults.  As
most birds do when they are frightened, they voided their bowls and the air was
filled with foul smelling slimy rain.  The she-wolf had done this sort of
thing before and made sure her attack had not carried her into the foul rain.
When the area was cleared, she walked around the dead calf looking for a place
to feed.  She could again detect the scent of the saber tooth that had
killed the calf.  She sniffed at the deep claw marks on the flanks of the
calf and then sank her fangs into the hide at the claw marks.  Her sharp
fangs were able to grip the hide between the marks, and by shaking her head;
she was able to tear some of the hide away.  Continuing the attack on the
hide brought her a sizeable opening where she could get at the rich red meat
below.  The work was difficult, but her pups needed as much food as she
could bring them. The hide and the meat captured her attention, and she didn't
hear or smell the approach of the saber tooth as he returned to his kill.

As the big cat approached the meadow
where the calf's body lay, he noticed something strange.  There were no
vultures on the calf's carcass. Some of them were in the trees, but none on the
ground. There were vultures in the air circling the clearing, but the trees
held most of the flock.  Something must have frightened them away from the
kill.  He sniffed the air; it was fouled by the vultures, but still held
the faint scent of wolf.  Only one wolf. A pack of wolves were a dangerous
threat to all but the most fearsome of animals. He had learned about wolf packs
when he was younger and lacked experience.  He had come upon a pack of
them and attacked with little thought that they would be a threat. They were
startled and ran in different directions when he charged, and he managed to
hurt one.  They seemed to be confused at first, but then they broke into
groups and attacked him. He was amazed that any creature so small would
attack.  He renewed his attack on them, but it was like trying to fight
smoke.  One moment one was close and he attacked it, but he would be hit
from the rear.  They would hit and run, they seemed to be everywhere. The
madder he became the more effective their attacks became.  They kept going
for his hind legs.  It wasn't long before he realized he was in trouble
and there was a chance they would wear him out and kill him.  Fortunately,
he was close to the river and was able to get into the water.  The wolves'
attacks then had to be concentrated on his front, and they were not foolish to
try. Instead, they changed tactics and tried to get him out of the water. 
Some of them would lie down on the bank and roll around on their backs trying
to get him to attack. Others would rush into the water but they always broke
away before they got close enough to be hurt.  He was not taken in by
their tricks but interested to see how smart they were.  They barked at
him, and he roared at them.  He decided this whole mess shouldn't have
happened in the first place.  The only way out was retreat.  He
backed out farther into the water until he could swim, and then struck out for
the other shore to a chorus of wolf calls.  He hated wolfs.  Today
there was only one wolf, and it was payback time.