The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [164]
Jondalar was watching her with amazement. Though only partly healed, it took very strong hands to break a bone like that. He had always loved her sheer physical strength ever since he was first aware of it in her valley. He realized that she needed strength living alone as she did, and thought that having to do everything for herself had probably encouraged more muscle development, but he hadn’t known how strong she really was.
Ayla’s strength came not only from being forced to exert herself just to survive when she lived in the valley; it had been developing from the time she was first adopted by Iza. The ordinary tasks that were expected of her had become a conditioning process. Simply to keep up at the minimum level of competence for a woman of the Clan, she had become an exceptionally strong woman of the Others.
“That was good, Jondalar. Now I want you to brace yourself again, and hold her arm here at the shoulder,” Ayla said, showing him. “You must not let go, but if you feel yourself slipping, tell me right away.” Ayla realized that the bone had resisted healing in the wrong shape, making it somewhat easier to break than if it had been set straight for that length of time, but the muscle and tendon had healed much more. “When I straighten this arm, some of the muscle will tear, just as it did when it was first broken, and the sinews will be stretched. Muscle and sinew will be hard to force, and will cause her pain later, but it must be done. Tell me when you are ready.”
“How do you know about this, Ayla?”
“Iza taught me.”
“I know she taught you, but how do you know this? About rebreaking a bone that has started to heal?”
“Once Brun took his hunters on a hunt to a distant place. They were gone a long time, I don’t remember how long. One of the hunters broke his arm shortly after they started out, but he refused to return. He tied it to his side and hunted with one arm. When he returned, Iza had to make it right,” Ayla explained, quickly.
“But how could he do it? Go on like that with a broken arm?” Jondalar asked, looking incredulous. “Wouldn’t he have been in great pain?”
“Of course he was in great pain, but not much was made of it. Men of the Clan would rather die than admit to pain. That’s how they are; it’s how they are trained,” Ayla said. “Are you ready now?”
He wanted to ask more, but this was not the time. “Yes, I’m ready.”
Ayla took a firm hold of Roshario’s arm just above the elbow, while Jondalar held her below the shoulder. With slow but steady force, Ayla started pulling back, not only straightening, but working it around to avoid bone rubbing against bone and perhaps crushing it, and to keep the ligaments from tearing. At one point it had to be stretched slightly beyond its original shape to get it into a normal position.
Jondalar didn’t know how she kept up the forceful, controlled tension when he could barely hold on. Ayla strained with the exertion, perspiration running down her face, but she could not stop now. For the bone to be right, it needed to be straightened in a steady, smooth movement. But once she got beyond the slight overstretch, past the broken end of the bone, the arm settled into the proper position, almost of its own accord. She felt it fall into place, carefully eased the arm to the bed, and finally let go.
When Jondalar looked up, she was shaking, her eyes were closed, and she was breathing hard. Maintaining control under tension had been the most difficult part, and she was struggling now to control her own muscles.
“I think you did it, Ayla,” he said.
She took a few more deep breaths, then looked at him and smiled, a broad, happy smile of victory. “Yes, I think I did,” she said. “Now