The Land of Painted Caves - Jean M. Auel [296]
“How far along is Jeralda now?” Ayla asked.
“Her moontimes were not regular and she was spotting blood so we weren’t paying much attention and aren’t sure when this life started. I think she’s bigger than she was when she lost the last one, but maybe I’m just wishing,” Jeviva said.
“I’ll come by tomorrow and examine her, and see what I can find out, though I don’t know if I’ll be able to tell much. Did Zelandoni say anything about why she lost her first three?” Ayla asked.
“All she said is that Jeralda has a slippery womb and tends to drop them too easily. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with the last one, except that he was born too soon. He was alive when he was born and lived a day or so, then just stopped breathing.” The woman turned her head aside and wiped away a tear.
Jeralda put her arm around her mother, and then her mate held her and her mother for a moment. Ayla watched the small family as they joined together in their remembered grief. She hoped this pregnancy would turn out to be more successful.
Joharran had designated two men to stay behind to hunt for the people left at the Ninth Cave and generally to help out where they could; they would be replaced in a Moon or so. There was also one hunter who had volunteered to stay, the mate of the pregnant woman who was having difficulties. The others had been unlucky enough to lose at the competitive games the leader had arranged to decide who had to remain behind. The older one was called Lorigan, and the younger, Forason. They had grumbled about it but since they would not have to take a turn in the competition the next year, they accepted their fate.
Ayla often joined the men on their hunts and enjoyed it, and just as often went out on her own with Whinney and Wolf. She hadn’t hunted for some time, but she hadn’t lost her skills. Forason, who was quite young, wasn’t sure of the hunting ability of the Donier’s acolyte in the beginning, and thought she’d get in the way, especially since she insisted on bringing the wolf. Lorigan only smiled. By the end of the first day, the young man was overwhelmed at her prowess with both spear-thrower and sling, and surprised at how well the animal worked with them. When they were returning, the older man explained to the youngster that it was she and Jondalar who had developed the spear-thrower and brought it with them when they returned from their Journey. Forason had the good sense to be embarrassed.
But, for the most part, Ayla stayed near the large abri. Those who were there usually shared their evening meal together. It tended to make the emptiness of the large area seem less when they were all together around one fire. The aged and infirm were overjoyed to have a real healer there to care for them. It gave them an unaccustomed sense of security. Most summers, instructions were left with those who were more fit or with the hunters. At most, there might be an acolyte who was staying behind for a similar reason that Ayla was, but generally not one so skilled.
Ayla fell into a routine. She slept late in the morning; then in the afternoon she visited with each person, listened to their complaints, gave them medicines or made poultices, or did whatever she could to make them feel better. It helped make the time pass for her. They all became closer, exchanged stories of their lives, or told stories they had heard. Ayla practiced telling the Elder Legends and the Histories she was learning, and told incidents from her early life, both of which people loved hearing. She still spoke with her unusual accent, but they were so accustomed to it, they didn’t really hear it anymore, except that it tended to give her an appealing sense of the mysterious and exotic. They had fully accepted her as