The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [198]
“I told Roshario her arm would have to be held rigid in that birchbark for a moon and halfway into the next,” Ayla said.
“That’s too long. We can’t stay that long!”
“How long can we stay?” Ayla asked.
“Not very long at all.”
“But who will take the bark off? Who will know when the time is right?”
“We have sent a runner for a shamud,” Dolando offered. “Wouldn’t another healer know?”
“I suppose so,” Ayla said, “but I would like to talk to this shamud. Jondalar, can’t we stay at least until he comes?”
“If it’s not too long, but maybe you should consider telling Dolando or Tholie what to do, just in case.”
Jondalar was brushing Racer, and it seemed that the stallion’s coat was growing in and thickening fast. He thought he had detected a decided nip in the air that morning, and the stallion seemed particularly frisky.
“I think you are as eager as I am to be moving, aren’t you, Racer?” he said. The horse flicked his ears in Jondalar’s direction at the sound of his name, and Whinney tossed her head and nickered. “You want to go, too, don’t you, Whinney? This really isn’t a place for horses. You need more open country to run in. I think I should remind Ayla of that.”
He gave Racer a final slap on the rump, then headed back toward the overhang. Roshario seems much better, he thought when he noticed the woman sitting alone near the large fireplace, sewing with one hand, using one of Ayla’s thread-pullers. “Do you know where Ayla is?” he asked her.
“She and Tholie went off with Wolf and Shamio. They said they were going to the boat-making place, but I think Tholie wanted to show Ayla the Wishing Tree and make an offering for an easy birth and a healthy baby. Tholie is beginning to show her blessing,” Roshario said.
Jondalar hunkered down beside her. “Roshario, there is something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said, “about Serenio. I felt terrible leaving her like I did. Was she … happy, when she left here?”
“She was upset, and very unhappy at first. She said you offered to stay, but she told you to go with Thonolan. He needed you more. Then Tholie’s cousin unexpectedly arrived. He’s like her in many ways, says what he thinks.”
Jondalar smiled. “That’s the way they are.”
“He looks like her, too. He’s a good head shorter than Serenio, but strong. He made up his mind in a hurry, too. He took one look at her and decided she was the one for him—he called her his ‘beautiful willow tree,’ the Mamutoi word for it. I never thought he would convince her, I almost told him not to bother—not that anything I said would have stopped him—but I thought it was hopeless, that she’d never be satisfied with anyone else after you. Then one day I saw them laughing together, and I knew I was wrong. It was like she came to life after a long winter. She blossomed. I don’t think I’ve seen her so happy since her first man, when she had Darvo.”
“I’m glad for her,” Jondalar said. “She deserves to be happy. I was wondering, though, when I left … she said she thought the Mother might have blessed her. Was Serenio pregnant? Had she started a new life, maybe from my spirit?”
“I don’t know, Jondalar. I remember when you left she said she thought she might be. If she was, it would be a special blessing on her new mating, but she never told me.”
“But what do you think, Roshario? Did she look like she was? I mean, can you tell just from looking that soon?”
“I wish I could tell you for sure, Jondalar, but I don’t know. I can only say she could have been.”
Roshario studied him closely, wondering why he was so curious. It wasn’t as if the child was born to his hearth—he had given up that claim when he left—although if she had been pregnant, the baby Serenio would have by now was likely to be of his spirit. Suddenly she smiled at the idea of a son of Serenio, grown to the size of Jondalar, born to the hearth of the short Mamutoi man. Roshario thought it would probably please him.
Jondalar opened his eyes to the rumpled bedding of the empty place beside him. He pushed the covers aside, sat up on the edge