The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [182]
They sat in silence, sipping the warm liquid, which was a relief to Dolando. He was afraid they would want him to make conversation, and he was in no mood for it. It wasn’t a matter of mood to Ayla. She simply didn’t know what to say. She had come for Roshario’s sake, though she would have preferred not to be there at all. The prospect of spending the night within the dwelling of a man who had raged in anger against her was not pleasant, and she was grateful Jondalar had chosen to stay with her. Jondalar was also at a loss for words and had been waiting for someone else to say something. When no one did, he felt that silence, perhaps, was most appropriate.
With timing that almost seemed planned, just as they were finishing their tea, Roshario began to moan and thrash about. Ayla picked up the lamp and went to her. She put it down on a wooden bench that also served as a bedside table, moving aside a damp woven cup of spicy fragrant gillyflowers. The woman’s arm was swollen and warm to the touch, even through the wrappings, which were now tighter. The light and Ayla’s touch woke the woman. Her eyes, glazed with pain, focused on the medicine woman, and she tried to smile.
“I’m glad you are awake,” Ayla said. “I need to take off the sling and loosen the wrappings and splints, but you were thrashing in your sleep, and you need to keep your arm still. I’ll make a fresh poultice that should lessen the swelling, but I want to make you something for the pain, first. Will you be all right for a while?”
“Yes, you go and do what you need to. Dolando can stay and talk to me,” Roshario said, looking past Ayla’s shoulder to one of the men standing behind her. “Jondalar, don’t you think you should help Ayla?”
He nodded. It was obvious that she wanted to talk to Dolando in private, and he was just as happy to leave them alone. He brought in more wood for the fire, and then more water, and a few more river-smoothed, large pebbles to use for heating the liquid. One of the cooking stones had cracked when it was transferred from the hot fire to the fresh, cold water Dolando had brought in for tea. As he watched Ayla preparing her medications, he heard the low murmur of voices from the rear of the dwelling. He was glad he could not hear what they were saying. When Ayla finished treating Roshario and making her more comfortable, they were all tired and ready for sleep.
Ayla was awakened in the morning by the delightful sound of children laughing and playing, and Wolfs wet nose. When she opened her eyes, Wolf looked toward the entrance, where the sounds were coming from. Then he looked back at her and whined.
“You want to go out there and play with those children, don’t you?” she said. He whined again.
She lifted off her covers and sat up, noticing that Jondalar was sprawled out in sound sleep beside her. She stretched, rubbed her eyes, and glanced toward Roshario. The woman was still sleeping; she had many wakeful nights to make up for. Dolando, wrapped in a fur cover, was sleeping on the ground beside her bed. He, too, had spent many sleepless nights.
When Ayla got up, Wolf dashed to the entrance and stood there waiting for her, his whole body wriggling with anticipation. She pushed back the flap and quickly stepped outside, but told Wolf to stay. She did not want him scaring anyone by dashing into the middle of something without warning. She looked across and saw several children of various ages in the pool made by the waterfall along with several women, all taking a morning bath. She walked toward them with Wolf close to her side. Shamio squealed when she saw him.
“C’mon, Wuffie. You should take a bath, too,” the girl said. Wolf whined, looking up at Ayla.
“Would anyone mind if Wolf got in the pool, Tholie? Shamio seems to want him to come in and play.”
“I was just getting out,” the young woman said, “but she can stay in and play with him, if the others don’t mind.”
When no one made an objection,