The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [165]
Ayla dipped the strips of chamois skin in the hot water, placed the spikenard and yarrow on it, wrapped it loosely around the arm, then told Jondalar to ask Dolando if he had the splints ready.
When Jondalar stepped out of the dwelling, a crowd of faces greeted him. Not only Dolando, but all the rest of the Cave, both Shamudoi and Ramudoi, had been keeping a vigil in the gathering place around the large hearth. “Ayla needs the splints, Dolando,” he said.
“Did it work?” the Shamudoi leader asked, handing him the pieces of smoothed wood.
Jondalar thought he should wait for Ayla to say, but he smiled. Dolando closed his eyes, took a long deep breath, and shuddered with relief.
Ayla placed the splints in position and wrapped more chamois strips around them. The arm would swell, and the poultice would have to be replaced. The splints were to hold the arm in place so Roshario’s movements would not disturb the fresh break. Later, when the swelling went down and she wanted to move about, birchbark, dampened with hot water, would mold to her arm and dry into a rigid cast.
She checked the woman’s breathing again, and the pulses in her neck and wrist, listened to her chest, lifted her eyelids, then went to the entrance of the dwelling.
“Dolando, you can come in now,” she said to the man who was just outside the door.
“Is she all right?”
“Come and see for yourself.”
The man went in and knelt down beside the sleeping woman, staring at her face. He watched her through several breaths, assuring himself that she was breathing, then finally looked at her arm. Under the dressings, the outline looked straight and normal.
“It looks perfect! Will she be able to use her arm again?”
“I have done what I can. With the help of the spirits and the Great Earth Mother, she should be able to use it. It may not be with the full use she had before, but she should be able to use it. Now, she must sleep.”
“I am going to stay here with her,” Dolando said, trying to convince her with his authority, though he knew if she insisted, he would leave.
“I thought you might want to,” she said, “but now that it’s done, there is something I would like.”
“Ask. I will give you anything you want,” he said, not hesitating, but wondering what she would demand of him.
“I would like to wash. Can the pool be used for swimming and washing?”
It was not what he had expected her to say, and he was taken aback for a moment. Then he noticed for the first time that her face was stained with blackberry juice, her arms were scratched from thorny briars, her clothes were worn and dirty, and her hair was disheveled. With a look of chagrin, and a wry smile, he said, “Roshario would never forgive me for my lack of hospitality. No one has so much as offered you a drink of water. You must be exhausted after your long travels. Let me get Tholie. Anything you want, if we have it, it is yours.”
Ayla rubbed the saponin-rich flowers between her wet hands until a foam developed; then she worked it into her hair. The foam from ceanothus wasn’t as rich as soaproot lather, but this was a final washing and the pale blue petals left a pleasant mild scent. The nearby area and the plants had been so familiar that Ayla was sure she’d be able to find some plant that they could use to wash with, but she was pleasantly surprised to find both soaproot and ceanothus when they went to get the pack baskets and travois with the bowl boat. They had stopped to check on the horses, and Ayla told herself she would spend some time combing Whinney later, partly to see to her coat, but also for the reassurance.
“Are there any foaming flowers left?” Jondalar asked.
“Over there, on the rock near Wolf,” Ayla said. “But that’s the last of them. We can pick more next time, and some extra to dry and take with us would be nice.