by various authors
Ayla and Jondalar were walking in the woods near the cave. It was a
beautiful day. Birds were singing, insects chirping, the wind whistling in
the trees. Overhead, the sky was a deep blue, but far off in the distance,
storm clouds were approaching. Jondalar noticed the clouds were coming
very fast, and told Ayla, "We should head back." As the storm rolled ever
closer, Ayla looked up at the sky. Suddenly, between the flashes of
lightening, she saw something. "Jondalar!" she cried, "what is that?" It's
a bird, it's a plane, no it's . . . BROUD! The most evil villain they had
encountered, Broud made Attaroa look about as mean as Mr. Rogers. Broud
flew down towards then, his fur cape flapping wildly behind him, and came
to a stop on the ground. "So, we meet again Ayla! For the last time," he
said, ominously, "I have come to kill you, you and that fool of a man you
call your mate?" Complex sentences confused Jondalar, who could only
respond to this dire threat with a, "Huh?" Ayla took charge of the
situation; "You'll never kill me Broud!" she yelled and called for Baby.
Despite the fact he was thousands of miles away, Baby heard and recognized
that voice. He came charging across the continent, at record speed, and
was there in less than a minute. "Baby, attack!" Broud panicked. How could
he fight off the biggest cave lion in the entire world? As the lion
charged him, he had one idea. He held up his hand and said, "Stop!" Baby
recognized the signal and rolled over so Broud could scratch his stomach.
Ayla didn't know what to make off this, so she whistled for the horses and
Wolf. Only it was an unnecessary move; when Broud's hand got close to
Baby's nose, he remembered the scent. Baby got up in indignation. He had
killed this man in several other stories! How could he possibly still be
alive? He backed up so he could charge. Broud signed, 'Stop!" Baby stood
up on his hind legs and signaled back, "Not this time Broud! It's your
turn to stop!" Broud was so surprised he barely felt the lion rip his head
off. At that moment, Wolf and the horses entered the scene. Because of
their natural brilliance and psychic abilities, they knew Broud and hated
him. Not wanted to let Baby have all the glory of this kill, they joined
him. Wolf was contented to play with Broud's detached head, while the
horses stomped on his chest and legs and Baby chewed on his arms.
Eventually, they stopped, after determining he was really and truly dead
this time. As the animals wandered off, Jondalar wrapped his arm around
Ayla and thought, "I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost her!" The storm
was clearing, and Ayla smiled seductively at Jondalar. He decided he had
had enough action for the day, and smiled back. Ayla said, "Well, since
nobody else is around . . ." Jondalar took the hint, and they had
sex.
THE END
Wasn't that nice? Did you know in Microsoft Word if you scan certain words
and click Shift-F7, you get the thesaurus? Now if you do that for almost
every word you can in the document, it changes things slightly. So
wouldn't it be a better story if it read like:
Ayla and Jondalar were marching in the stand of timber near the
subterranean passage. It was an awe-inspiring day. Birds were chanting,
insects chirping, the wind whistling in the trees. Overhead, the vault of
heaven was a deep cobalt, but far off in the distance, squall clouds were
advancing. Jondalar perceived the clouds were coming at breakneck speed,
and enlightened Ayla, "We should head back." As the storm rolled ever
closer, Ayla peeped up at the sky. All at once, between the flashes of
lightening, she saw an item. "Jondalar!" she roared, "what is that?" It's
a bird, it's a plane, no it's . . . BROUD! The most unfavorable
rapscallion they had unearthed, Broud made Attaroa look about as
treacherous as Mr. Rogers. Broud flew down towards them, his body hair
poncho fluttering wildly behind him, and he came to a standstill on the
loam. "So, we confront each other anew Ayla! For the closing time," he
uttered, dangerously, "I have come to electrocute you, you and that
dunderhead of a yeoman you claim as your co-worker?" Perplexing sentences
befuddled Jondalar, who could only retort to this dreadful warning with a,
"Huh?" Ayla took control of the plight; "You'll never assassinate me
Broud!" she hooted and called for Baby. Despite the fact he was thousands
of miles away, Baby made out the words and distinguished that voice. He
came charging across the major earth division, at record speed, and was
there in less than a minute. "Baby, siege!" Broud panicked. How could he
battle with the most tremendous cave lion in the entire terrestrial
sphere? As the lion charged him, he had a unique inspiration. He held up
his paw and voiced, "Surrender!" Baby was familiar with the wigwag and
rolled over so Broud could claw his beer belly. Ayla didn't know what to
make off this, so she warbled for the livestock and Wolf. Only it was an
superfluous action; when Broud's palm got a stone's throw away from Baby's
snout, he reminisced the aroma. Baby got up in exasperation. He had
butchered this buck in many additional legends! How could he possibly
still be functioning? He backed up so he could charge. Broud gestured,
'Halt!" Baby stood up on his hindmost members and waved back, "Not this
time Broud! It's your turn to stop!" Broud was so overwhelmed he scarcely
felt the lion slit his head off. At that instant, Wolf and the geldings
rushed into the spectacle. Because of their involuntary preeminence and
extrasensory aptitudes, they knew Broud and uninvited him. Not wanting to
let Baby have all the triumph of this slaughter, they united with him.
Wolf was satisfied to play with Broud's disjoined head, while the horses
stomped on his heart and lower appendages and Baby munched on his arms.
Eventually, they discontinued, after deciding he was really and truly
extinct this time. As the beasts wandered off, Jondalar wrapped his
flipper around Ayla and thought, "I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost
her!" The tempest was clearing, and Ayla beamed temptingly at Jondalar. He
resolved he had had enough combat for the day, and smirked back. Ayla
mouthed, "Well, since nobody else is around . . ." Jondalar got the
implication, and they had intimate relations.
THE END
Note: I really do apoligize for the bad grammar. MicrosoftWord can't do
grammar very well.
by Rosalind
"...I want a dame like she is at inaugural wake -I think I descend in ardor with every gentlewoman then, at least for that bedtime. But I want a female, not a junior miss. I want her no kidding, zealous and predisposed without any pretension, but I don't want to have to be so frugal with her. I want her to have esprit, to know her own gray matter. I want her green and patriarchal, simple-minded and intelligent, all at the same tempo.”
by Rosalind
"...Ayla, I looked for you all of my existence and didn't know I was
looking. You are the whole shebang I ever wanted, the works I ever dreamed
of in a fem, and more. You are a interesting cryptogram, a oxymoron. You
are totally aboveboard, unoccupied; you fur zilch: yet you are the most
arcane lady I've ever met.
"You are brawny, standing on one's own two
feet, entirely endowed to take care of yourself and of me: yet you would
hunker at my feet - if I'd let you- with no abashment, no ill will, as
easily as I would hallow Donii. You are heroic, gallant;, you saved my
being, mothered me back to lack of ailments, hunted for my chow, provided
for my creature comforts. You don't need me. Yet you occasion me want to
insulate you, police over you, make sure no ravage comes to
you.
Ayla sat down on the mold and gaped at Zolena, who sat challenging her.
Zolena began, "Do you know to what purpose I have requested the presence
of you here, Ayla?"
Ayla wasn't exclusively positive, but she
purchased an abstraction as to how come. "You obtained a further
hallucination by means of Doni, didn't you?"
"Aye. You are
intensely ingenious, Ayla. Keen, well endowed, resourceful, an exemplary
fixer, you even procured the interminable ardor of good-looking Jondalar.
Doni came to me in a nightmare, Ayla. She covets me to get you to join the
order of the Zelandonia. I guarantee you, Doni herself conceives you would
be one of the superlative." She indicated around the vastness as she
uttered, "When I depart, you would supplant me. All this could be yours."
Ayla glimpsed around the Lilliputian space, thoughtful of the sketches
of organisms on the underground chamber confines, the models of Doni, the
cribs of balms, diversified mechanisms and other objects, the waterbed
heaped tall with colored animal skins: crimson, saffron, Prussian,
purplish red, ebony, even unadulterated ivory. Ayla took a deep inhalation
and then voiced, "Zolena, as I have informed you heretofore, I do not
fancy to become a Zelandoni. I am joyful as a little woman and matriarch,
and innumerable people draw near to me for renovation so my forte is not
squandered."
Zolena sighed. "Are you certain Ayla?"
"Yes,
I'm indisputable."
"The resolve can be yours and yours uniquely.
But meditate about it, Ayla. Consider it with Jondalar. You might
transform your judgement." She grasped for an urn near the pyre. "Would
you like some tea?"
"I certainly would." Ayla downed the matter
instantaneously, but acknowledged the tang too late. "Doni damn it!" was
the concluding thing she murmured before she skidded into the mystic
abstraction. Zolena had slipped her tea made from the extraordinary Clan
rootlets, one more time!
Ayla felt like she was blowing in the wind
through the ozone. She witnessed the terra firma: flourishing plains,
unlit and atrocious high country, the frigid glacier. She beheld the
watery waste: teal and whisking with whitecaps. She wandered faraway, into
a coal black vacuum, before she reached a destination in a gaunt location.
There, she observed a duo, one farther away in the distance, the other
right in front of her. It was a velvety rhino, but, in a whirlpool of
brilliance, it morphed into . . . Broud! Ayla stuttered, "What are you
doing here?"
"I have passed away many times, Ayla. This is a spot
of hobgoblins," was his retort. He beckoned to the backwoods torso to come
closer. "I have come to recount news of a human being you worry ardently
about: your descendant."
"Which child?"
"Durc, you lofty
matron! Durc! Did you virtuously anticipate I was pertaining to Brunolon
or Crebular?"
"What tidings of Durc?"
"He has grown up so
lanky, just like you. Brilliant beyond reason. He is joined in marriage to
Ura now, and they have innumerable offspring. He will become a clergyman,
Ayla, one of the premium the Clan has ever recognized."
The shape
had arrived at Broud's side. It was Durc. Ayla was so egotistical. "Broud,
I . . . this gentlewoman is intensely gladdened that you told of these
things. This dame is privileged that her scion has grown up so
robust."
"Oh, I have not educated you of the prime cut,
Ayla."
"What's that?"
"Like old man, like offspring! He's
just like me! A chivalrous hero, dauntless, vain, the whole
shebang!"
Durc abruptly spoke, "Lady, get us some
liquid!"
Ayla twitched, "Excuse me?"
"Bodacious prostitute!"
Durc was pointing ferociously, his face sooty with passion; "You'll
compensate for this sinister conduct!" He clobbered his knuckles against
her face, and then Ayla woke up from the ecstasy.
Zolena was
waiting for her. "Did the specters tell you to become Zelandoni? I
expected they would." She perceived Ayla was seriously enraged. "From time
to time demons merge the facts with corrupt circumstances you don't want
to watch transpire. What did you behold? I would be beyond blissful to
clarify your illusions for you."
Ayla uttered zilch but selected a
paw-full of grime from the loam and threw it in Zolena's face. "Don't ever
present me with that tea anew!" she howled and then departed.
by Rosalind
“Awed silence, Sela. Where are your urbanity?”
“I can’t forbear it! Did you see him streaming around like a discarded
material manikin?” She gasped as another fit of snigger overtook her.
Malia tried to umbrella her smirk as she registered seeing the
yeoman/spirit carried away by the sirocco. “He can’t support it, he
doesn’t know how to govern his veeja yet. Commemorate when we had to catch
on how to motility again?”
Sela sobered slightly as she expelled how inchoate she was when her
substance had headmost rent asunder from her physique. Her old lady and
she had been inserted subterranean in the nature, and they hadn’t known
how to get out. “I suppose we should remedy him,” she acclaimed
grudgingly, “but he’s so engaging!”
“Come, descendant,” Malia motioned as she readily glided toward the
wildly bobbing fellow. The combo rode the bluster top with versed ease and
circled around Thonolan.
Thonolan was vexing to get a peep at the women that were inclosing him,
but the mistrial well mixed him in this area at will. The filly continued
to titter at him, fabricating him sense like an green minority meeting his
Donii matron for the headmost time. “Who are yooooooo?” he yelled as the
draught swept him hanging away from the females.
“I’m Malia, and this is my successor, Sela. Don’t affray against it,
use the currents to your gratification, like this.” Malia sent abroad
herself barely and circled him.
Thonolan ominously tried to lookout what she was doing, and migrated
himself. He felt himself mutation oral instruction, and sighed in
assuagement. Then the draught pushed him bottomward, “I’m gonna wither!”
He was in a nosedive headed continuous toward the loam.
“Use your shoulders, too!” Sela denominated out, “and don’t solicitude,
you’re already defunct.” She giggled again and followed him.
He certified; he really did put forth effort to stop sinking. The
creation came up so expeditious and he flailed his implement of war as he
turtledove precipitously toward a paving stone rampart. He braced his arms
in exterior of him and jam-packed his eyes out of service. After a few
moments, he felt himself unscathed and unrestricted his eyes. Absence of
light! No, not just jet black, there were legion shades of colors, even
some gala sediment. He relocated his front around, and the outlook changed
little. “I’m fundamental in reef! How am I going to get means of escape of
this? I don’t know which way is augment!”
Sela was guffawing so hard, she was equated up on the ground.
“My…side…hurts!” She managed to get out. “His…feet!”
Her ma couldn’t keep her jocundity in this date. “They’re cleaving…out!
Flailing!” The yeoman had used the gust to nosedive right into
three-dimensional boulder. Once he started to make an entrance, the wind
stopped its impetus and split him there, top of thighs while seated and
feet clinging out, and evident in all admonition to bonanza solid ground.
Thonolan was sensibility wretched and waved encompassing his arms and
legs to try to propulsion his way means of escape. He noticed that his
legs and feet felt less holding back than the rest of his corpus, and
destined to try for that route. He pushed severely at the dike in front of
him, wanting to acquire more like he was swimming in a Rock of Gibraltar.
His thighs were nearly unfettered when he felt personage tugging on his
legs.
Both women were in teardrops from their twitter by the cycle they
pulled the buck out. He was too revived to cognizance and was beholden to
see the phenomenal, comely luminary. “I didn’t conceive I was bound to get
extrinsic of that one, I notion I was unfortunate for sure!”
“That’s unequivocally why you terminated up that custom. You’re still
pragmatic you have a physique!” Malia sat under with the short-winded guy
and motioned her offspring closer. “Leading of all, you can’t afflict, you
can’t be sentenced, that would have happened already, and you can’t buy
the farm. You have all the lastingness in sempiternity to do what you
fancy. You may be left in the lurch in rock for years but it doesn’t
dwindle any of the era you endure. It may not be cushy,” she broke off as
she on tiptoe a chuckle, “but you’d get means of escape inevitably.”
“We can still feel sensitivity. All of them seemed to be amplified, but
your endowment to subordination them is that much incomparable,” Sela
added. “I don’t ponder that I’ve close in to rate highly all of the
revision that has happened to me yet, either,” she put in for
conscientious example. It wouldn’t be satisfactory to have a fellow veejia
upset at her.
Thonolan grinned ruefully, “I postulate I did look nonsensical, and I
was timorous I was going to check out.” He paused and premeditated the
women. He felt his scantiness of deportment and held his hands palm up to
them. “I am Thonolan of the Shamudoi, intrinsic of the Zelondoni.”
Jondalar
assembled his rods and cones incapable of perceiving the coercive ultimate
twinkle of Ayla’s term. His own duration would possess no target as soon
as she withdrew. Consequently why was he abiding there petrified of the
browbeating pointed projectiles irrespective that he objected
inconsequentially whether he subsisted or lapsed? His hooves were knotted,
nevertheless his walking appendages weren’t. He had the ability totter
throughout there and perchance swat Attaroa elsewhere.
He ascertained a rumpus in the neighborhood of the gate of the Holding
at the juncture he arbitrated to snub the aciculate projectiles and
endeavor to abet Ayla. The vociferation from the Holding amused his
pickets as he lurched forward out of the blue, propelled off their unused
lances and traipsed for the sake of the duo of sexy babes quibbling on the
substratum.
Unpremeditatedly an eclipse flit beyond the scanning population,
ricocheted upon his leg, and vaulted at Attaroa. The momentum of the
assault slogged the headwoman retrogressively as acute incisors transfixed
throughout her blow pipe riving all about the rind The headwoman
predicated herself atop her posterior on the basis, essaying to buck off a
vehemence of messed up teeth and jacket. She administrated to make a drive
into the elephantine, fleecy substance anterior to she toppling the
dagger, except that it only elicited a cadaverous snap and a tenacious
grip of the viselike jaws mashing together in a stranglehold that
attenuated her atmosphere.
I didn't know some of these words existed!
Is this a spear thrower, which I see before me,
Finger loops toward
my hand? Come let me with launch thee.
I have cast thee not, yet I make
the kill.
Art thou not, fatal weapon, sensible
To trajectory as to
thrust? Or art thou but
A flint flake of the mind, a false
invention,
Deriving from the labour oppressed brain?
I cast thee
again, in balance as perfect
as this which now I heft.
Thou guideth
me down wind from the herd I was hunting,
And such a tool I was to use.
My arm is made the fool o’er the other muscles,
Or else worth all
the rest: I cast thee still;
And on thy spear and shaft, drippings of
blood,
Which was not so before. There’s no such thing:
It is the
bloodiness of the hunt which informs
Thus to mine arms. Now o’er the
one half-field
Nature seems still, and Doni’s dreams abuse
The
peaceful grazing; those who Serve celebrate
The Great Mother’s
offerings; and tired hunting,
Alarmed by her sentinel, then
Wolf,
Whose growl’s his watch, with thus his stealthy pace,
With
Lumi’s ravishing strides, towards his design
Hear not our approach,
which way they walk, for fear
Thy very creatures learn our
whereabout,
and take the imminent strike from its intended
time,
Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, they graze:
Words to
the heat of deeds to empty stomachs give.
I go, and it is done: the
breeze invites me.
Here's more:
Jondalar was reposing in rack prematurely one
hypothermic sunrise. He burrowed down in the pelts and bandaged his fins
around his exquisite comrade, Ayla, who was still taking a siesta. He
ruminated about what he was going to do that day. He presupposed he would
slave on one of his best-liked pastimes, and elected handicraft, crag
knapping. Not anything made him appear more animated than engraving a
sharp edged metal out of ornamented earth's crust. Zilch made him feel
more appropriate than thrashing pea gravel together. Nothing made him feel
craftier than conceiving mentally fashionable habiliments. As a whole, no
motion was more useful, except for his additional ideal action:
fornication. In an epoch where no man fathomed that copulation
manufactured newborns, he did have to utilize childbearing restraint. He
and his helpmate had an abundance of intimate relations, and consequently,
myriad babes. He beamed with delight, thinking of all the offspring that
were of his zealousness. "Crag and courtship, my adored possessions," he
thought sleepily. Jondalar abruptly pondered if he should inform Ayla
about his additional desired things, alcohol and opera, as they had been
interconnected for roughly 10 years. He resolved not to, intellectualizing
his conclusion, "Tomorrow is another day," before he dropped off.
One pluvial afternoon, Ayla was embroidering textiles at her abode in
the grotto when unexpectedly a maid ran up to her. "Come swiftly, Ayla!"
she mouthed, "Zarona is intensely diseased."
Ayla slapdashed to
Zarona's fireplace, where the girl was drubbing with agony on the berth.
Zelandoni was there, as well.
"Vacate Ayla!" she decreed. "This
encompasses demons, and unless you are adequate to complete an exorcism, I
imply you not return to this grate."
"Um, I anticipate she's having
a incipient organism, not enduring tribulation by
hobgoblins."
"Absolutely not, you're unfit. The pernicious specter
has indoctrinated her flab; observe how puffed up it is?"
"It's
bloated because of a zygote."
Zolena glowered. "I've never been
much of a healer. Do you suppose it could really be a
nursling?"
"I'm cocksure of it."
"I hypothesize you can put
forth effort then. But merely until I'm back with condiments and hard
liquor to do away with the spirits."
Ayla wrenched a hangnail
vessel and drinking water satchel out of her windbreaker and in no time at
all liquid was distilling o'er the inferno. She uprooted knapsacks of
seasoning from her Otter membrane ointment purse and fashioned Zarona an
instrumental potion. It was one of those "occult" harmonizing munchies,
and the babe, a lass, was born instantaneously and with limited grief.
Zarona was so intoxicated to have a successor after such a pure delivery
that she uttered, "Ayla, I expect I'll classify her Zayla, after you and
Zelandoni."
Ayla smiled maliciously and left the matriarch and
juvenile to link. Zolena pursued Ayla back to her dwelling. "You were
perfect, and I was crooked. How can I ever express gratitude?"
Ayla
smirked. "It doesn't matter."
"Well, at least permit me to
construct you a shot glass of tea."
"NEVER!" Ayla reminisced
exceedingly accurately what had transpired the last time she let Zolena
erect her a goblet of refreshment.
Jondalar, Virtuoso Paving stone Knapper of the Ninth Subterranean
passage of the Zelandonii, posterity of Marthona, foregoing honcho of the
Ninth Underground chamber, kinsman to Joharran, pilot of the Ninth Cave,
inborn to the Residence of Dalanar, chieftain and prime mover of the
Lanzadonii, comrade of the defunct Thonolan, spunky and doughty nomad,
sibling to Folora, picturesque offspring of Marthona, and glorified of
Donii.
Ayla of the King of the jungle Tent city of the Mamutoi, Elected by the
Dugout Leo, Cherished by the Cavern Winnie the Pooh, and Descendant of the
Mammoth Abode.
Ayla - Forlorn in a social milieu of aliens, she is alpine, flaxen,
spare, and shrewder than the surplus. She must make use of her lucidity to
succeed when she transgresses the Clan's most contraband forbiddance.
Brun - Chinless, bewhiskered, buckle limbed and hogshead chested, he is
the dominator of the Clan and must choose the destination of the
inassimilable junior miss.
Iza- Primary remedy dame of the Clan, Iza beholds the bizarre waspish
filly and grasps she is anthropological and must be emancipated from
abstinence from food.
Creb - The Clan's Mog-ur, or soothsayer, he is the most highly valued
chaste chap of all the cliques. But his standing doesn't thwart him from
questioning what Ayla fathoms.
Broud - The scion of Brun, he is beastly, disdainful, and embittered of
the fascination paid to the abnormal lass. He swears to get retribution on
her in the most carnally gratifying way he knows how to.
Durc - Birthed of a barbarous molestation, belonging to neither one nor
the other, he is the hope of the Clan.
Back of COTCB (Before I give you a nice thesaurus edition of this text,
I'm going to have to say that I don't think whoever wrote that read the
same COTCB I read.) And now:
Here is a chiller of exalted comeliness
and stamina. A heart-rending legend about community, alliances, and the
limits of passion. Through Jean Auel's imposing storytelling, we are taken
back to the fountainhead of society and swept up in the phenomenal cradle
of humanity of a very distinctive martyr, Ayla. Her absorbing yarn is one
we can all experience. A physical cataclysm has left immature Ayla
unaccompanied, trekking, guarding herself in an exotic region. One day,
she is located by the Clique of the Grotto Grizzly, beaux and gentlewomen
far contrasted from her own clan. The rangy, fair-haired, sapphire eyed,
Ayla is an esoteric interloper to the Extended family and right off the
bat they challenge her and discarded her. But as she increases to discern
them and memorize the customs of the Organization, she is gladly received.
And as she ushers them in their grapple for endurance, the Clique comes to
glorify Ayla. For in her hemoglobin marches the infinity of human culture.
Back of VOH, changed up a bit:
Here is a memorable pilgrimage into a
sphere of frightening abstruseness, into a far away days of yore made
manifestly unfeigned, a romance that transports us back to the bizarre,
pristine orb we braved in The Clique Of The Grotto Grizzly - and to
harmonious Ayla, the stalwart lady who enamors us with her murderous
bravado and crusading cardiac organ. Rigorously forsaken by the
old-fashioned Race that signed adoption papers for her as a youngster,
Ayla presently cruises in a turf of agonistic cold and fear-inspiring
swine. She is rummaging for the Others, a culture as towering, fair, and
indigo eyed as she. But Ayla exposes a clandestine hollow, where a clutch
of indefatigable meadow ponies strolls. Here, she is bequeathed with a
singular friendship with quadrupeds, licensing her to master the oracle of
pyre and undisciplined endurance - nevertheless, her craving for social
fraternity and devotion sojourns quenchless. Then destiny delivers her an
interloper, aristocratic Jondalar, and Ayla is torn within dread and
expectancy - and lead to an arousal of carnality that would chisel the
unfolding of homo sapiens.
Back of MH, slightly modified:
One more time, Jean M. Auel uncovers the
portal to unveil an aeon of incredulity and horror at the dawn of
civilization. With all the transcendent storytelling inventiveness and
vivacious lack of adulteration she brought to The Clique of the Grotto
Grizzly and it's continuance The Canyon of Cattle, Jean M. Auel
keeps up the majestic momentous pilgrimage of the matron dubbed Ayla. At
this time, with her faithful Jondalar, Ayla exuberantly sets forth into
the acreage of the Mamutoi - the Mammoth Hunters, the Others she has been
soliciting. While Ayla must acquire their outlandish protocol and lingo,
it is due to her supernatural poaching and regenerating calling she is
ratified into the Mammoth Abode. Here Ayla locates her inaugural lady
playmates, and tormenting recollections of the Extended family she left
behind. Here, likewise, is Ranec, the tawny, alluring champion chiseler of
whalebone antlers to whom Ayla is irresistibly drawn - setting Jondalar
ablaze with flaming anger. All through the wintry winter, Ayla is split
among her two boyfriends. But before long will come the consequential
seedtime mammoth steeplechase, when Ayla must elect her companion and her
doom - to loiter in the Dwelling with Ranec, or to accompany Jondalar into
a remote territory and unrevealed morrow.
And last but not least, the back of POP:
Jean M. Auel's mesmerizing
Planet's Offspring sequence has matured into an erudite prodigy, worshiped
by readers on every side of the biosphere. Presently, in a glittery
thriller as energetically uncorrupted and pleasurable as those that came
previously, Jean M. Auel takes us back to the incipient days of human
culture . . . and to the bewitching woman of distinguished valor
denominated Ayla. Alongside her chum, Jondalar, Ayla sets out on her most
touch-and-go and chivalrous excursion - removed from the unrestricted
residence of the Mammoth Hunters, and into the undiscovered. Their
transhumance stretches across a good-looking but unfaithful major earth
division, the windswept yards of Frost Epoch Continent, casting the
uncensored twosome amid aliens. Some will become schoolmates, open-eyed by
Ayla's ways of housebreaking turbulent equine animals and wolves. Others
will become bloodthirsty archenemies, terrorized by what they cannot
fathom. But always the ragamuffin Ayla and nomadic Jondalar will obey the
decision and fantasy that spurs them on, deeper into the incomprehensible
and sensational quintessence of an unepitomized biosphere. For they are
driven to arrive at that sector on earth they may call their rightful
place. Mutually, they clench the anticipation in their paws.
If there was one entity Marthona cherished more than anything else in the terrestrial sphere, it was handicrafts. She frequently wasted her days jitterbugging around the subterranean passage, showing each person ways to make what they were toiling on comely. On one stormy day, she showed Marona how to fabricate millet and small pulpy fruit fritters with maple dextrose frosting and pecans as ornamentation. She attempted to get Jondalar to engrave articles into the scalpels he was working. "Don't you anticipate the cutters would be more aesthetic if they had blossoms forged in them?" she interrogated. Then she put forth effort to win over Ayla into mutating the procedure by which she arranged her antibiotics. "Tying lumps and such is a exemplary notion, but don't you suppose it would be more suitable if you sketched illustrations of the foliage on the receptacles?" Ayla shook her head, "I've adapted the snarls for ages; why convert now?" Afterward, she entrusted in Jondalar, "Your old lady is candy-coated and sportive, but she makes Martha Stewart appear uninventive."
It was a frigid day. Snowflakes were foreshadowing to descend. Permafrost adhered like tremendous bicuspids from the orifice of the grotto. As predictable, Broud was conducting himself half-wittedly. "All this crystallized water and precipitation is Ayla's responsibility!" He squealed to his Clique, "If her shadow wasn't still dangling around, winter would have been settled erstwhile!" "But Broud," discontinued Goov, "This is only the inauguration of winter. The intoxicating beverages have been made it known to me this winter will be more drawn out and hard hearted than customary." Broud was corybantic, "How dare you repudiate me! If you weren't the rector, I would have you doom banned. If I were the honcho, I would have never made you reverend in the maiden place! Oh tarrying, I am the bell cow." He put forth effort to secrete his asinine typo by arching the thoughtfulness to someone else. "I don't recollect you womankind have been performing hard enough. Now is the cycle to get this dugout chronological, and make it the prize subterranean passage in the undivided Clique!" "Broud, we are champions," was Goov's retort. "Well then, we have to be more than foremost. We will be the exquisite Clique, the omnipotent Nation, the ill will of all the other Organizations!" Broud vaulted onto a boulder so he was more elevated than the residue of the Group. "We will be the Race that everyone wants to move to, we will be the most fat-headed, the peerless, the primary, we will be the only undistorted Clique betwixt all the Cliques! And do you know why?" He initiated popping up and down, "As long as I am the pilot! I am the bellwether! I am the dominator! I am AUGGGGHHHHH!" The precious stone Broud was bouncing on was unctuous with frozen water and he was throw down. He docked adjoining to an inferno and his cape commenced kindling. Moreover, when he smacked the loam, his head whacked another paving stone and separated undefended. The rank fumes of sanguine fluid enchanted some unruly monsters, which ran into the cavern and hauled his incandescent cadaver out into the blizzard to feast on it. The Clique surveyed in loathing. When it was all over, Brun gyrated to the kinsmen and said, "Judiciously, I hypothesize I am the chieftain one more time." And the entire group was vivacious.
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