The Mammoth Hunters - Jean M. Auel [98]
“Talut! Are you going back for more?” Nezzie said, in the not-quite-scolding tone that Ayla was coming to recognize as Nezzie’s way of saying she was pleased with the big headman.
“But you’ve outdone yourself. This is the best stew I’ve ever eaten.”
“Exaggerating again. You’re saying that so I won’t call you a glutton.”
“Now, Nezzie,” Talut said, putting his dish down. Everyone was smiling, giving each other knowing looks. “When I say you’re the best, I mean you’re the best.” He picked her up and nuzzled her neck.
“Talut! You big bear. Put me down.”
He did as he was bid, but fondled her breast and nibbled an earlobe. “I think you’re right. Who needs more stew? I think I’ll finish off dinner with you. Didn’t I get a promise earlier?” he replied, with feigned innocence.
“Talut! You’re as bad as a bull in heat!”
“First I’m a wolverine, then I’m a bear, now I’m an aurochs.” He bellowed a laugh. “But you’re the lioness. Come to my hearth,” he said, making motions as if he was going to pick her up and carry her off to the lodge.
Suddenly she gave in and laughed. “Oh, Talut. How dull life would be without you!”
Talut grinned, and the love and understanding in their eyes when they looked at each other spread its warmth. Ayla felt the glow, and deep in her soul she sensed that their closeness had come from learning to accept each other as they were, over a lifetime of shared experiences.
But their contentment brought disquieting thoughts to her. Would she ever know such acceptance? Would she ever understand anyone so well? She sat mulling over her thoughts, staring out across the river, and shared a quiet moment with the others as the broad empty landscape staged an awesome display.
The clouds to the north had expanded their territory by the time the Lion Camp finished the feast, and presented their reflecting surfaces to a rapidly retreating sun. In a flagrant blaze of glory, they proclaimed their triumph across the far horizon, flaunting their victory in blaring banners of orange and scarlet—careless of the dark ally, the other side of day. The lofty show of flying colors, flamboyant in its brazen splendor, was a short-lived celebration. The inexorable march of night sapped the volatile brilliance, and subdued the fiery tones to sanguine shades of carmine and carnelian. Flaming pink faded to smoky lavender, was overcome by ash purple, and finally surrendered to sooty black.
The wind increased with the coming night, and the warmth and shelter of the earthlodge beckoned. In the fading light, individual dishes were scoured by each person with sand and rinsed with water. The balance of Nezzie’s stew was poured into a bowl and the large cooking hide was cleaned the same way, then hung over the frame to dry. Inside, outer clothing was pulled off and hung on pegs, and fireplaces were stoked and fed.
Tronic’s baby, Hartal, fed and contented, went to sleep quickly, but three-year-old Nuvie, struggling to keep her eyes open, wanted to join the others who were beginning to congregate at the Mammoth Hearth. Ayla picked her up and held her when she toddled over, then carried her back to Tronie, sound asleep, before the young mother even left her hearth.
At the Hearth of the Crane, though he had eaten from his mother’s dish, Ayla noticed that Fralie’s two-year-old son, Tasher, wanted to nurse, then fussed and whined, which convinced Ayla that his mother’s milk was gone. He had just fallen asleep when an argument erupted between Crozie and Frebec and woke him. Fralie, too tired to spend energy on anger, picked him up and held him, but seven-year-old Crisavec had a scowl on his face.
He left with Brinan and Tusie when they came through. They found Rugie and Rydag, and all five children, who were near the same age, immediately began talking with words and hand signs, and giggling. They crowded onto a vacant bed platform together next to the one shared by Ayla and Jondalar.
Druwez and Danug were huddled together near the Fox Hearth. Latie was standing nearby, but either they