The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [199]
Ayla had been excited about going on a chamois hunt, but when they went to bed and talked to each other in quiet tones, as they often did, Jondalar had reminded her that they had to leave soon. If the chamois were coming down, it meant it was getting cold in the high meadows, which signaled a turn of the seasons. They had a long way to travel yet, and they needed to be on their way.
They hadn’t argued, exactly, but Ayla had indicated she didn’t want to go. She talked about Roshario’s arm, and he knew she wanted to hunt chamois. In fact, he felt sure that she wanted to stay with the Sharamudoi, and he wondered if she was trying to delay their departure in the hope that he would change his mind. She and Tholie were already fast friends, and everyone seemed to like her. It pleased him that she was so well liked, but it was going to make the leaving more difficult, and the longer they stayed, the harder it would get.
He lay awake far into the night, thinking. He wondered if they should stay, for her sake, but then, they could have stayed with the Mamutoi just as well. He finally came to the conclusion that they would have to leave as soon as possible, within the next day or two. He knew Ayla was not going to be happy about it, and he wasn’t sure how to tell her.
He got up, put on his trousers, and started toward the entrance. Pushing aside the drape, he stepped outside and felt a sharp cool wind on his bare chest. He was going to need warmer clothes, he thought, hurrying to the place where the men passed their morning water. Instead of the cloud of colorful butterflies that usually fluttered nearby—he had wondered why they should be so attracted to the strong-smelling place—he suddenly noticed a colorful leaf fluttering down, and then he saw that most of those left on the trees were starting to turn.
Why hadn’t he noticed that before? The days had passed so quickly and the weather had been so pleasant that he hadn’t paid attention to the changing season. He suddenly recalled that they were facing south in a southern region of the land. It could be much later into the season than he thought, and much colder to the north, where they were heading. As he hurried back to the dwelling, he was more determined than ever that they had to leave very soon.
“You’re awake,” Ayla said, entering with Darvalo while Jondalar was dressing. “I was coming to get you before all the food was put away.”
“I was just putting something warm on. It’s cool out there,” he said. “It will soon be time to let my beard grow.”
Ayla knew he was telling her more than his words said. He was still talking about the same thing they had talked about the night before; the season was changing and they had to be on their way. She didn’t want to talk about it.
“We should probably unpack our winter clothes and make sure they are undamaged, Ayla. Are the pack baskets still at Dolando’s?” he said.
He knows they are. Why is he asking me? You know why, Ayla said to herself, trying to think of something to change the subject.
“Yes, they are,” Darvalo said, trying to be helpful.
“I need a warmer shirt. Do you remember what basket my winter clothes were in, Ayla?”
Of course she did. So did he.
“The clothes you are wearing now aren’t anything like the ones you wore when you first came, Jondalar,” Darvalo said.
“These were given to me by a Mamutoi woman. When I came before, I was still wearing my Zelandonii clothes.”
“I tried on the shirt you gave me this morning. It’s still too big for me, but not as much,” the young man said.
“Do you still have that shirt, Darvo? I’ve almost forgotten what it looks like.”
“Do you want to see it?”
“Yes. Yes, I would,” Jondalar said.
In spite of herself, Ayla was curious, too.
They