The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [239]
“Well, that’s an honest answer, anyway,” he said, frowning.
“I could have stayed with the Sharamudoi, too, but I want to be where you are. If you need to return to your home, then I want to go with you,” Ayla continued, trying to explain. Noticing his frown, she knew it wasn’t quite the answer he wanted to hear.
“You asked me, Jondalar. When you ask, I will always tell you what I feel. When I ask, I want you to tell me how you feel. Even if I don’t ask, I want you to tell me if something is wrong. I don’t ever want that kind of misunderstanding we had last winter to come between us, where I don’t know what you mean, and you won’t tell me, or you guess that I feel something, but you don’t ask. Promise me that you will always tell me, Jondalar.”
She looked so serious and so earnest that it made him want to smile with affection. “I promise, Ayla. I would never want to go through a time like that again, either. I couldn’t stand it when you were with Ranec, especially when I could see why any woman would be interested in him. He was fanny, and friendly. And he was a fine carver, a true artist. My mother would have liked him. She likes artists and carvers. If things had been different, I would have liked him myself. He reminded me of Thonolan, in a way. He may have looked different, but he was just like the Mamutoi, outspoken, confident.”
“He was a Mamutoi,” Ayla said. “I do miss the Lion Camp. I miss the people. We haven’t seen many people on this Journey. I didn’t know how far you had traveled, Jondalar, or how much land there is. So much land and so few people.”
As the sun moved closer to the earth, the clouds over the high mountains to the west were reaching up to embrace the fiery orb and glowing pink in their excitement. The brightness settled into the brilliant enveloping display, then faded into darkness while Ayla and Jondalar finished their meal. Ayla got up to put the extra birds away; she had cooked much more than they could eat. Jondalar put cooking stones back in the fire in preparation for their evening tea.
“They were delicious,” Jondalar said. “I’m glad you wanted to stop early. It was worth it.”
Ayla happened to glance toward the island, and, with a gasp, her eyes opened wide. Jondalar heard her startled intake of breath, and looked up.
Several people carrying spears had appeared out of the gloom and stepped into the edge of the light by the fire. Two of them wore capes of horsehide, with the dried head still attached and worn over the head like a hood. Jondalar stood up. One of the men pulled his horse-head hood back and walked toward him.
“Zel-an-don-yee!” the man said, pointing at the tall blond man. Then he slapped himself on his chest. “Hadumai! Jeren!” He was grinning broadly.
Jondalar looked closely, then grinned back. “Jeren! Is that you? Great Mother, I can’t believe it! It is you.”
The man started talking in a language just as unintelligible to Jondalar as his was to Jeren, but the friendly smiles were understood.
“Ayla!” Jondalar said, motioning her over. “This is Jeren. He’s the Hadumai hunter who stopped us when we were heading the other way. I can’t believe it!” Both were still grinning with delight. Jeren looked at Ayla, and his smile took on an appreciative gleam as he nodded at Jondalar.
“Jeren, this is Ayla, Ayla of the Mamutoi,” Jondalar said, making formal introductions. “Ayla, this is Jeren, one of Haduma’s people.”
Ayla held out both her hands. “Welcome to our camp, Jeren of Haduma’s people,” she said.
Jeren understood the intent, although it wasn’t a customary greeting among his people. He put his spear into a holder slung across his back, took both her hands, and said, “Ayla,” knowing it was her name, but not comprehending the rest of the words. He slapped himself on the chest again. “Jeren,” he said, then added some unfamiliar words.
Then the man jerked with sudden apprehension. He had seen a wolf move to Ayla’s side. Seeing his reaction,