The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [447]
Ayla signaled Wolf, who crowded close to her as she stood back and watched, holding the lead ropes of both horses.
“So, you came back! You were gone so long, I didn’t think you would,” the man said.
Then, over Jondalar’s shoulder, the older man spied a most astounding sight. Two horses, with baskets and bundles fastened to them, and hides draped across their backs, and a large wolf, were hovering close to a tall woman, dressed in a far parka and leggings cut in an unusual style and decorated with unfamiliar patterns. Her hood was thrown back, and the woman’s deep golden hair cascaded around her face in waves. There was a decidedly foreign cast to her features, rather like the unfamiliar cut of her clothing, but it only added to her outstanding beauty.
“I don’t see your brother, but you did not return alone,” the man said.
“Thonolan is dead,” Jondalar said, closing his eyes involuntarily. “I would be, too, if it wasn’t for Ayla.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I liked the boy. Willomar and your mother will be grief-stricken. But I notice your taste in women has not changed. You always did have a liking for beautiful zelandonia.”
Jondalar wondered why he thought Ayla was One Who Served the Mother. Then he looked at her, surrounded by the animals, and suddenly saw her as the older man would, and he smiled. He strode to the edge of the clearing, took Racer’s lead, and started walking back, followed by Ayla, Whinney, and Wolf.
“Dalanar of the Lanzadonii, please welcome Ayla of the Mamutoi,” he said.
Dalanar held out both hands, palms up, in the greeting of openness and friendship. Ayla grasped them with both of hers.
“In the name of Doni, the Great Earth Mother, I welcome you, Ayla of the Mamutoi,” Dalanar said.
“I greet you, Dalanar of the Lanzadonii,” Ayla replied, with the proper formality.
“You speak our language well for someone from so far away. It is my pleasure to meet you.” His formality was belied by his smile. He had noticed her manner of speaking and thought it most intriguing.
“Jondalar taught me to speak,” she said, hardly able to keep from staring. She glanced at Jondalar, then back at Dalanar, stunned by their resemblance.
Dalanar’s long blond hair was a little thinner on top and his waist a little thicker, but he had the same intensely blue eyes—a few creases at the corners—and the same high forehead, his worry lines etched a little deeper. His voice had the same quality, too, the same pitch, the same tone. He even stressed the word pleasure the same way, giving it the hint of a double meaning. It was uncanny. The warmth of his hands started a tingling response in her. His similarity even confused her body for a moment.
Dalanar felt her response and smiled Jondalar’s smile, understanding the reason and liking her for it. With that strange accent, he thought, she must come from someplace quite far away. When he dropped her hands, the wolf suddenly approached him, quite fearlessly, although he couldn’t say he felt the same way himself. Wolf insinuated his head under Dalanar’s hand, looking for attention, as though he knew the man. To his own surprise, Dalanar found himself stroking the handsome animal, as though it were perfectly natural to pet a large living wolf.
Jondalar was grinning. “Wolf thinks you’re me. Everyone always said we looked alike. Next you’ll be on Racer’s back.” He held the lead rope toward the man.
“Did you say ‘Racer’s back’?” Dalanar said.
“Yes. Most of the way here, we rode on the backs of those horses; Racer is the name I gave the stallion,” Jondalar explained. “Ayla’s horse is Whinney, and this big beast that’s taken such a liking to you is called ‘Wolf.’ That’s the Mamutoi word for a wolf.”
“How did you ever get a wolf, and horses…” Dalanar began.
“Dalanar, where are your manners? Don’t you think other people want to meet her and hear their stories?”
Ayla, still slightly flustered by Dalanar’s amazing resemblance to Jondalar,