The freshness of early summer in the temperature zone near the cave changed character on the open plains of the continental steppes to the east. Gone was the rich green foliage that filled out brush and deciduous trees and still betrayed the new season’ growth of conifers with needles a shade lighter at the tips of branches and spires. Instead quick-rooting and sprouting herbs and grasses, already chest high, whose youthful verdancy was lost to the drab hue indeterminate between green and gold, stretched to the horizon. Thick, matted, old season growth cushioned their steps as the clans wove their way across the illimitable prairie, leaving his contemporary ripple behind showing the way they had come. Clouds rarely marred the boundless expanse above except for an occasional thunderstorm, more often seen from a distance. Surface water was scarce. They stopped to fill water bags at every stream, unsure if they would find any conveniently close when they camped for the night.
From the book ‘Theclan of the cave bear’ by Jean M. Auel

Spring was in full flower the day she decided to hunt ptarmigan for Creb’s favourite dish. She thought she would look over the new growths and begin re-stocking Iza’s pharmacopoeia while she was at it. She spent the morning ranging the nearby countryside, then headed for a broad meadow near the steppes. She flushed a couple of the lowing flying fowl, brought down quickly by swifter stones, then searched trough the tall grass looking for a nest had hopefully some eggs. Creb liked the birds stuffed with their own eggs in a nest of edible greens and herbs. She uttered an exclamation of joy when she spied it, and carefully wrapped the eggs in soft moss and tucked them into a deep fold of her wrap. She was delighted with herself. Out of sheer joyful exuberance, she sprinted across the meadow in a fast run, coming to a halt, out of breath, at the top of a knoll covered with new green grass.
Flopping to the ground, she checked her eggs to make sure they were undamaged, and took out a piece of dried meat to lunch on. She watched a bright yellow-breasted meadowlark trilling gloriously from an open perch, then taken to wing and continue his song in flight. A pair of golden crowned sparrows, warbling their woeful tune of descending pitch, flitted among the blackberry canes at the border of the field. Another pair of black capped, grey coated birds named by the chick-a –dee- dee of their call, darted in and out of their nesting hole in a fir tree near a small creek winding its way through the dense vegetation at the floor of the knoll. Small, vivacious, browns wrens scolded the others as they carried twigs and dried moss to a nest cavity in an ancient, gnarled apple tree, proving its youthful fecundity with its flock of pink blooms.

Ayla’s days were busy filled with activity to ensure her survival. She was no longer the inexperienced, unknowledgeable child she had been at five, During the years with the clan, she had had to work hard, but she had learned in the process. She wove tight waterproof baskets to carry water and for cooking, and made herself a new collecting basket. She cured the skins of animals she hunted and made rabbit fur for linings for the insides of her foot coverings, leggings wrapped and tied with cord, and hand coverings made in the style of foot coverings – circular pieces that tied at the wrist in a pouch, but with slits cut in the palms for thumbs. She made tools from flint and collected grass to make her bed softer.
The meadow grasses supplied food, too. They were top heavy with seeds and grains. In the immediate vicinity were also nuts, high bush cranberries, bear berries, hard small apples, starchy potato like roots, and edible ferns. She was pleased to find milk vetch, the non poisonous variety of the plant whose green pods held rows of small round legumes, and she even collected the tiny hard seeds from dried pig weed to grind and add to grains that she cooked into mush. Her environment supplied her needs.
From the book ‘The clan of the cave bear’ by Jean M. Auel

After Ayla made herself a new sling out of Zoug’s scraps to replace the old one that had finally worn out, she decided to look for a place to practise away from the cave. She was always afraid someone would catch her . She started upstream along the watercourse that flowed near the cave, then began ascending the mountain along a tributary creek, forcing her way through heavy underbrush.
She was stopped by a steep rock wall over which the creek spilled in a cascading spray. Jutting rocks, whose jagged outline were softened by a deep cushion of lush green moss, separated the falling water bouncing from rock to rock, into long thin streams that splashed up, creating veils of mist, and fell again. The water collected itself in a foaming pool that filled a shallow rocky basin at the foot of the waterfall before it continued down to meet the larger waterway. The wall presented a barrier that ran parallel to the stream, but as Ayla hiked along its base, back towards the cave, the sheer drop angled up in a steep, but climbable, grade. At the top, the ground levelled out and as she continued , she came to the upper course of the creek and began to follow it upstream again.
Moist, grey-green lichen draped the pine and spruce that dominated the higher elevation. Elevation. Squirrels darted up the tall trees and across an underlying turf of variegated moss, carpeting earth and stones and fallen logs alike in a continuous cover that shaded from light yellow to deep green. Ahead she could see bright sunshine filtering trough the evergreen woods. As she followed the creek, the trees thinned out, intermixed with a few deciduous trees dwarfed to brush, then opened out to a clearing. She emerged from the woods into a small field whose far end terminated in the grey- brown rock of the mountain, sparsely covered with clinging growth as it soared to higher reaches.
The creek, which meandered across one side of the meadow, found its source in a large spring gushing out of the side of a rock wall near a large hazelnut clump growing against the rock. The mountain range was honeycombed with underground fissures and chutes that filtered the glacial run-off which appeared again as clear, sparkling springs.
From the book “The clan of the cave bear”, by Jean M. Auel