The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [462]
Though others held back, a young woman rushed toward him. Jondalar recognized his younger sister immediately, though the pretty girl had blossomed into a beautiful young woman during the five years of his absence.
“Jondalar! I knew it was you!” she said, flinging herself at him. “You finally came home!”
He gave her a big hug, then picked her up and swung her around in his enthusiasm. “Folara, I am so happy to see you!” He put her down and looked at her at arm’s length. “But you’ve grown. You were just a girl when I left; now you’re a beautiful woman … just as I always knew you’d be,” he said, with slightly more than a brotherly glint in his eye.
She smiled at him, looked into his unbelievably vivid blue eyes and was drawn by their magnetism. She felt herself flush, not from his compliment, although that’s what those standing nearby thought, but from the rush of attraction she felt for the man, brother or not, whom she had not seen for many years. She had heard stories of her handsome big brother with the unusual eyes who could charm any woman, but her memory was of a tall adoring playmate who was willing to go along with any game or activity she wanted to play. This was the first time as a young woman that she was exposed to the full effect of his unconscious charisma. Jondalar noticed her reaction and smiled warmly at her sweet confusion.
She glanced away toward the bottom of the path near the small river. “Who is that woman, Jonde?” she asked, “and where did the animals come from? Animals run away from people; why don’t those animals run away from her? Is she a Zelandoni? Has she Called them?” Then she frowned. “Where’s Thonolan?” She took a sharp breath at the look of pain that tightened Jondalar’s brow.
“Thonolan travels the next world now, Folara,” he said, “and I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for that woman.”
“Oh, Jonde! What happened?”
“It’s a long story, and this is not the time to tell it,” he said, but he had to smile at the name she called him. It was her personal nickname for him. “I haven’t heard that name since I left. Now I know I’m home. How is everyone, Folara? Is Mother all right? And Willomar?”
“They’re both fine. Mother gave us a scare a couple of years ago. But Zelandoni worked her special magic, and she seems fine now. Come and see for yourself,” she said, taking his hand and starting to lead him the rest of the way up the path.
Jondalar turned and waved at Ayla, trying to let her know that he would be back soon. He hated leaving her there alone with the animals, but he needed to see his mother, to see for himself that she was all right. That “scare” bothered him, and he needed to talk to people about the animals. He and Ayla had both come to realize how strange and frightening it was to most people to see animals that did not run away from them.
People knew animals. All the people they had met on their Journey hunted them, and most honored or paid homage to them or their spirits in one way or another. Animals had been observed carefully for as long as anyone could remember. People knew the environments they favored and the foods they liked, their migration patterns and seasonal movements, their birthing periods and rutting schedules. But no one had ever tried to touch a living, breathing animal in a friendly way. No one had ever tried to tie a rope around the head of any animal and lead it around. No one had ever tried to tame an animal, or even imagined that it could be done.
As pleased as these people were to see a kinsman return from a long Journey—especially one that few ever expected to see again—the tame animals were such an unknown phenomenon that their first reaction was fear. It was so strange, so inexplicable, so far beyond their experience or imagination that it could not be natural. It had to be unnatural, supernatural. The only thing that kept many of them from running and hiding, or attempting to kill the fearsome animals, was that Jondalar, whom they knew, had arrived with them, and he was striding up