The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [171]
Darvalo was deciding that it was fun to gather stuff with Ayla. She knew all kinds of things that no one else did, and she didn’t mind telling him at all. On the way back, she stopped at a dry sunny bank and cut some pleasant-smelling purple hyssop flowers. “What does that do?” he asked.
“It clears the chest, helps breathing. And this,” she said, picking some soft, downy leaves of mouse-eared hawkweed that were nearby, “stimulates everything. It’s stronger, and doesn’t taste too good, so I’ll only use a little. I want to give her something pleasant to drink, but this will clear her mind, make her feel alert.”
On the way back, Ayla stopped once more, to gather a large bunch of pretty pink gillyflowers. Darvalo expected to learn more medical lore when he asked what they were for.
“Just because they smell nice, and add a sweet, spicy flavor. I’ll use some for the tea, and I’ll put some in water by her bed, to make her feel good. Women like pretty, nice-smelling things, Darvalo, especially when they are sick.”
He decided he liked pretty, nice-smelling things, too, like Ayla. He liked the way she always called him Darvalo, and not Darvo, the way everyone else did. Not that he minded so much when Dolando or Jondalar called him that, but it was nice to hear her use his grown-up name. Her voice sounded nice, too, even if she did say some words a little fanny. All it did was make you pay attention to her when she talked, and after a while think about what a nice voice she had.
There was a time when he wished more than anything that Jondalar would mate his mother and stay with the Sharamudoi. His mother’s mate had died when he was young, and there had never been a man who lived with them until the tall Zelandonii man came. Jondalar had treated him like a son of his hearth—he had even begun to teach him to work the flint—and Darvalo had felt hurt when the man left.
He had hoped Jondalar would come back, but he never really expected it. When his mother left with that Mamutoi man, Gulec, he was sure there would be no reason for the Zelandonii man to stay if he did come back. But now that he had come, and with another woman, his mother didn’t need to be there. Everyone liked Jondalar, and, especially since Roshario’s accident, everybody talked about how much they needed a healer. He was sure Ayla was a good one. Why couldn’t they both stay? he thought.
“She woke up once,” Dolando said the instant Ayla entered the dwelling. “At least I think she did. She might have just been thrashing in her sleep. She has quieted down and is sleeping again now.”
The man was relieved to see her, though it was clear that he did not want to make it obvious. Unlike Talut, who had been completely open and friendly, and whose leadership was based on the strength of his character, his willingness to listen, accept differences, and work out compromises … and a voice loud enough to get the attention of a noisy group in the midst of a heated argument … Dolando reminded her more of Brun. He was more reserved, and though he was a good listener who considered a situation carefully, he did not like to reveal his feelings. But Ayla was used to interpreting the subtle mannerisms of such a man.
Wolf came in with her, and he went to his corner even before she signaled. She put down her basket of herbal flowers to check on Roshario, then spoke to the worried man. “She’ll be waking up soon, but I should have time to prepare a special tea for her to drink when she does.”
Dolando had noticed the fragrance of the flowers as soon as Ayla entered, and the steaming liquid she made from them had a warm floral scent when she brought a cup for him as well as the woman on the bed.
“What is this for?” he asked.
“I