The Land of Painted Caves - Jean M. Auel [312]
Except for the horses, the camp of the Ninth Cave seemed to be deserted. Wolf began sniffing around a familiar tent, and when she brought in her sleeping roll, she saw Wolf near Jonayla’s sleeping furs. He looked at her, whining with anxious need.
“Do you want to go find her, Wolf? Go ahead, Wolf, find Jonayla,” she said, giving him the signal that he was free to go. He raced out of the tent, sniffed the ground to pick up her particular scent among all the others, then ran off, smelling the ground now and then. People had seen Ayla arriving, and before she could unpack the meat, relatives and friends came to greet her. Joharran was the first, Proleva close behind.
“Ayla! You finally made it,” Joharran said, rushing toward her and giving her a big hug. “How’s Mother? You have no idea how much she is missed. Both of you, in fact.”
Proleva was next to embrace her. “Yes, how is Marthona?” she asked, giving Ayla time to answer.
“Better, I think. When I was leaving, she said if she had felt as good when everyone left, she might have come,” Ayla said.
“How’s Jeralda?” Proleva asked next.
Ayla smiled. “She had a girl, yesterday. The baby seems perfectly healthy—I don’t think she was early. They both seem fine. Jeviva and Jonclotan are very happy.”
“It looks like you brought something,” Joharran said, motioning toward the travois.
“Lorigan, Forason, Jonclotan, and I did a little hunting,” Ayla said. “We came upon a herd of red deer in Grass Valley, and got two stags. I left one there. It will hold them for a while. I brought the other one with me. I thought some fresh meat might be welcome about now. I know animals get a little scarce around here about this time. We had some before I left. They’re good, already building up fat for winter.”
Several more of the Ninth Cave arrived, and some others as well. Joharran and a couple of them started to unload the pole-drag.
Matagan, Jondalar’s first apprentice, ran with a limp, but ran nonetheless, and greeted her enthusiastically. “People have been asking when you were coming. Zelandoni kept saying it could be anytime. But no one was expecting you in the middle of the day,” Garthadal said. “Jondalar was sure that you wouldn’t get here until evening or later. He said when you decided to come, you’d probably ride your horse and make the trip in one day.”
“He was right. At least that’s what I planned to do, but Jeralda went into labor in the middle of the night, and had her baby in the morning. I was too restless to wait, so I left in the afternoon and camped out last night,” Ayla explained. Then, looking around, she asked, “Where is Jondalar? And Jonayla?”
Joharran and Proleva glanced at each other, then quickly looked away. “Jonayla is with the other girls her age,” Proleva said. “The zelandonia had some things for them to do. They’re going to take part in a special celebration Those Who Serve have planned.”
“I’m not sure where Jondalar is,” Joharran said, his brow knotted with the frown that was so like his brother’s. He glanced up behind Ayla, and smiled. “But there is someone here who has been wanting to see you.”
Ayla turned around and looked in the direction that Joharran had glanced. She saw a giant of a man with wild red hair and a bushy red beard. Her eyes opened wide.
“Talut? Talut, is it you?” she cried, rushing toward the burly man.
“No, Ayla. Not Talut. I am Danug, but Talut told me to give you a big hug for him, too,” the young man said as he swept her up in a big, friendly embrace. She felt, not crushed—Danug had learned long ago to be careful of his overpowering strength—but enveloped, overwhelmed, almost smothered by the sheer size of the man. He was taller, by some measure, than Jondalar’s six feet, six inches. His shoulders were nearly as broad as those of two ordinary men and his arms were the size of most