CIRCLES OF STONE (THE MOTHER PEOPLE SERIES) by JOAN DAHR LAMBERT

young one had
disappeared as well, though they had seen only Apar's body hanging from the
tree. Long ago, he remembered, he had climbed over the ridge himself, drawn by
the scent of others, though he had been careful to avoid the leopard.  He
smiled as an image of the pond, and the mate he had found there, formed in his
mind.
    The memory
vanished as Dak's attentive ears caught a low sound.  It was not the
howling; instead, it was a whimper, like the sound young ones uttered when they
were hurt, or wanted food.  He edged forward cautiously, testing the
smoke-laden air with his nostrils.  A scent came to him and then
disappeared as a gust of wind pulled sodden leaves and ash from the floor of
the forest and whipped it at his face, but even in that moment he had known
that the smell was familiar.
    The whimper was
louder now.  Dak's forehead wrinkled in consternation.  How could a
young one be here?  He had left all the others in the ravine.  None
were missing.  And the scent was not that of any member of his troop. It
was similar, but not the same.  He had known it before, though he could
not identify it precisely.  His eyes clouded as he tried to remember.
    Now the sound was
right under his feet.  It came from beneath a big fallen tree. Dak held
his burning stick near the ground and stared into the tangle of branches. His
straining eyes focused on a small shape, deep within the brush. The shape
twitched. Dak knelt, trying to see more clearly though the driving rain and
soot-blackened air. He moved the burning stick closer. The creature flinched
away from it.
    The stick's glow
illuminated the area and the dark shape took on meaning. It was a young
one, lying face-down against the damp earth. A branch covered its neck and
shoulder, pinning it to the ground.  On its back was a long, curved scar.
    The hair on Dak's
neck rose at the sight.  The scar had meaning for him.  He knew it
immediately, but the meaning would not come clear.  He reached into the
tangle and touched the small form.  A hand thrust toward his face, and the
moaning began again.  Dak hesitated. To rescue a young one who was not
from his troop felt strange, but the nagging sense of familiarity that came
with this one tugged at his instinct to protect.
    He looked
carefully at the fallen tree.  Most of its weight was supported by smaller
branches.  It was one of these that had pinned the youngster to the
ground. The others could break at any moment and crush the small form
beneath.  He tried to raise the branch, but it was held firmly in place by
the tree's weight and would not budge.  Clenching his teeth with the
effort, he crouched below a big limb and pushed upward with all his
strength.  Unexpectedly, the whole tree lurched toward the ground.  He
scooped up the small body and leaped away.  With a massive crack, the tree
settled against the sodden earth.
    Dak stared down at
the little creature in his arms.  Blood covered its face, but its eyes
were open and staring.  It uttered a new sound, a call unfamiliar to Dak,
and raised a hand to his face.  Then it sighed deeply and its eyes slowly
closed.
    Again Dak
hesitated.  The howling sounds still reverberated within him, and he knew
he had not found their source.  This one had not made such noises. 
Perhaps another was pinned beneath the tree, or lay wounded somewhere
ahead.  He scanned the area carefully, but he could see almost nothing in
the blackness.
    The wind rose
suddenly.  It blew thick ashes into his face, whistled harshly in his
ears.  Then he heard a new noise, one that made him turn sharply toward
the ravine.  It was the sound of water slapping against boulders.  He
ran forward and peered into the deep gorge.  Already, the water had risen
so high it would cover his ankles if he stood there.  A picture of the others,
crouched under the boulder waiting for him, came into his mind.  He
hurried back the way he had come, his face wrinkled with anxiety.
    The small