The Land of Painted Caves - Jean M. Auel [382]
I’m not going to do it! I’m going to pack up all my things and leave. He paused, looked over at Brukeval’s sleeping place. If I can find him, maybe we could go on a Journey together, or something, find some other people. I could tell them I am Zelandoni; they’d never know.
That’s what I’ll do. I’ll pack up Brukeval’s gear, and go look for him. I know a few places he might be. He would be someone to stay with, and he’s a better hunter than I am. I haven’t done it in so long. Maybe I’ll take some of Laramar’s things, too. He’ll never miss them. He won’t even know who took them. It could be anyone in this lodge. They all know he won’t be back.
And it’s all Jondalar’s fault. First he nearly kills me; then he nearly kills Laramar. He’ll get away with it, too, just like he did before. I hate Jondalar, I’ve always hated Jondalar. Someone ought to hold him down and beat him up. Ruin his pretty face. See how he likes it. I’d like to give Ayla a few whacks, too. I know a few people who wouldn’t mind holding her down. I’d give her something else, too, like a load of my “essence,” he thought with an evil grin. Then she wouldn’t walk so high. She never would share Pleasures with anyone else, not even at Mother Festivals. Thinks she’s so perfect, finding my sack and bringing it to the zelandonia. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t be out. I’d be Zelandoni. I hate that woman!
Madroman finished up the second waterbag of barma, grabbed several more, then looked around to see what else he wanted to take. He found a spare outfit, used but still good. He tried it on; they were nearly the same size. He took it. His zelandonia clothing was decorative and distinctive, but not very practical for long hikes. The sleeping roll wasn’t much good—it was an old throwaway to begin with; Laramar’s good one was in his mate’s tent—but there were several other very nice items, including a good fur cover. Then he found a real treasure, a new full winter outfit that Laramar had recently traded for. His barma was constantly in demand, and he had always been able to trade for whatever he wanted.
Next Madroman walked over to Brukeval’s place and began hauling everything he saw back to his own place. He changed into the more practical outfit that he’d found at Laramar’s place. It didn’t matter that it had Ninth Cave decorations instead of Fifth Cave; he wasn’t going to be staying at either place. He took food from both places, and then rummaged through the possessions of all the rest of the men, taking food and a few other items as well. He found a good, well-hafted knife, a small stone hatchet, and a new pair of warm mittens someone had just acquired. He didn’t have any with him and winter was coming. Who knows where I’ll be then? he thought. He had to repack a few times, eliminate a few things, but once he was ready, he was eager to leave.
He put his head out of the lodge and looked around. The Campsite was full of people, as usual, but none were nearby. He hoisted on the heavy backframe, and started out briskly. He planned on heading generally north, the direction he had seen Brukeval take. He was nearly beyond the boundary of the Summer Meeting Campsite, close to the camp of the Ninth Cave, when Ayla came out of a dwelling. She seemed to be distracted, preoccupied, but she glanced up and saw him. He flashed her a look of sheer hatred and kept on going.
The camp of the Ninth Cave looked deserted. Everyone had gone to the Lanzadoni camp for a joint midday meal, a feast they had been planning together for some time, but Ayla said she wasn’t hungry, and promised she’d come later. She was sitting on her bedroll in the dwelling, feeling despondent, thinking about Brukeval and his outburst