The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [167]
Jondalar had been watching the interaction with interest while he dried himself off. He picked up their clothes and walked toward the sandstone overhang with the two women. Tholie was keeping an eye on Shamio and Wolf, just in case, but she, too, was intrigued with the tame animal. She was not the only one. Many people were watching the girl and the wolf. When a boy a little older than Shamio approached, he was also greeted with a wet invitation to join them. Just then, two other children came out of one of the dwellings, tussling over some wooden object. The smaller one threw it to keep the other from getting it, which Wolf took as a signal that they wanted to play one of his favorite games. He raced after the carved stick, brought it back and laid it on the ground, his tongue panting and his tail waving, ready to play again. The boy picked it up and threw it again.
“I think you must be right—he’s playing with them. He must like children,” Tholie said. “But why should he like to play? He’s a wolf!”
“Wolves and people are alike in some ways,” Ayla said. “Wolves like to play. From the time they are cubs, siblings in a litter play, and the half-grown and adult wolves love to play with the little ones. Wolf didn’t have any siblings when I found him; he was the only one left, and he barely had his eyes open. He didn’t grow up in a wolf pack, he grew up playing with children.”
“But look at him. He’s so tolerant, even gentle. I’m sure when Shamio pulls on his fur, it must hurt. Why does he put up with it?” Tholie asked, still trying to understand.
“It’s natural for a grown wolf to be gentle with the little ones of a pack, so it wasn’t hard to teach him to be careful, Tholie. He’s especially gentle with small children and babies and will tolerate almost anything from them. I didn’t teach him that, that’s just how he is. If they get too rough, he’ll move away, but he goes back later. He won’t put up with as much from older children, and he seems to know the difference between one of them accidentally hurting him and one who is being purposely hurtful. He has never really harmed anyone, but he will nip a little—give a little pinch with his teeth—to remind an older child, who is pulling on his tail or yanking his far, that some things hurt.”
“The idea of anyone, particularly a child, even thinking of pulling a wolf’s tail is hard to imagine … or it would have been until today,” Tholie said. “And I wouldn’t have believed that I’d ever see the day that Shamio would play with a wolf. You have … made some people think, Ayla … Ayla of the Mamutoi.” Tholie wanted to say more, to ask some questions, but she didn’t exactly want to accuse the woman of lying, not after what she had done for Roshario, or at least seemed to have done. No one knew for sure, yet.
Ayla sensed Tholie’s reservations, and she was sorry about them. It placed an unspoken strain between them, and she liked the short, plump Mamutoi woman. They walked a few steps in silence, watching Wolf with Shamio and the other children, and Ayla thought again how much she would like to have a daughter like Tholie’s … a daughter next time, not a son. She was such a beautiful little girl, and her name matched her.
“Shamio is a beautiful name, Tholie, and unusual. It sounds like a Sharamudoi name, but also like a Mamutoi name,” Ayla said.
Tholie could not resist smiling again. “You’re right. Not everyone knows it, but that’s what I was trying to do. She would be called Shamie if she were Mamutoi, although that isn’t a name that would likely be found in any Camp. It comes from the Sharamudoi language, so her name is both. I may be Sharamudoi now, but I was born to the Red Deer Hearth, a line of high status. My mother insisted on a good Bride Price for me from Markeno’s people, though he wasn’t even Mamutoi. Shamio can be as proud of her Mamutoi background as she will be of her Sharamudoi