The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [169]
“Will you be able to find your way?” Dolando asked. “Maybe you should take Darvo with you.”
Ayla was sure she would have no trouble finding her way, but she decided to take the lad with her anyway. In all the concern for Roshario, he had been somewhat neglected, and he was worried about the woman, too.
“Thank you, I will,” she said.
Darvalo had overheard the conversation and was standing and ready to go with her, looking pleased to be useful.
“I think I know where that linden tree is,” he said. “There are always a lot of bees around it this time of year.”
“That’s the best time to gather the flowers,” Ayla said, “when they smell like honey. Do you know where I can find a basket to carry them back?”
“Roshario stores her baskets back here,” Darvalo said, showing Ayla to a storage space behind the dwelling. They selected a couple.
As they stepped out from under the overhang, Ayla noticed Wolf watching her, and she called him. She did not feel comfortable leaving the wolf alone with these people just yet, though the children complained when he left. Later, when everyone felt more familiar with the animals, it might be different.
Jondalar was in the field with the horses and two men. Ayla walked toward them to tell him where she was going. Wolf ran ahead and they all turned to watch when he and Whinney rubbed noses, while the mare whickered a greeting. Then the canine struck a playful pose and yipped a puppy bark at the young stallion. Racer lifted his head in a neigh and pawed the ground, returning the playful gesture. Then the mare approached Ayla and put her head across her shoulder. The woman put her arms around Whinney’s neck, and they leaned against each other in a familiar posture of comfort and reassurance. Racer took a few paces forward and nuzzled them both, wanting contact, too. She hugged his neck, then patted and stroked him, realizing that they all welcomed each other’s familiar presence in this place of so many strangers.
“I should introduce you, Ayla,” Jondalar said.
She faced the two men. One was nearly as tall as Jondalar, but thinner, the other was shorter, and older, but their similarity was striking, nonetheless. The shorter one stepped forward first, with both hands outstretched.
“Ayla of the Mamutoi, this is Carlono, Ramudoi leader of the Sharamudoi.”
“In the name of Mudo, Mother of All in water and on land, I welcome you, Ayla of the Mamutoi,” Carlono said, taking both of her hands. He spoke Mamutoi even better than Dolando, a result of several trading missions to the mouth of the Great Mother River, as well as Tholie’s coaching.
“In the name of Mut, I thank you for your welcome, Carlono of the Sharamudoi,” she replied.
“Soon you must come down to our dock,” Carlono said, thinking, What a strange accent she has. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard one like that, and I’ve heard many. “Jondalar told me he promised you a ride in a proper boat, not one of those oversize Mamutoi bowls.”
“I shall be pleased,” Ayla said, offering one of her brilliant smiles.
Carlono’s thoughts were diverted from consideration of her speech mannerism to appreciation of her. This woman Jondalar has brought certainly is a beauty. She suits him, he decided.
“Jondalar has told me of your boats, and about hunting sturgeon,” Ayla continued.
Both men laughed, as though she had made a joke, and they looked at Jondalar, who smiled, too, although he turned slightly red.
“Did he ever tell you how he hunted half a sturgeon?” the tall young man said.
“Ayla of the Mamutoi,” Jondalar interjected, “this is Markeno of the Ramudoi, the son of Carlono’s hearth, and Tholie’s mate.”
“Welcome, Ayla of the Mamutoi,” Markeno said, informally, knowing she had been greeted with the proper ritual many times. “Have you met Tholie? She will be pleased you are here. She misses her Mamutoi kin sometimes.” His command of his mate’s language was almost perfect.
“Yes, I’ve met her, and Shamio, too. She is a beautiful little