The shelters of stone - Jean M. Auel [102]
“Yes, Laramar makes a potent drink, but people seem to like it,” Marthona said. “I see you have a fire going already. I usually try to bank the fire at night so I have coals to start one in the morning, but with those firestones you showed us, I could get lazy. What are you making?”
“A morning tea,” Ayla said. “I like to make a wake-up tea for Jondalar in the morning, too. Can I make some for you?”
“When the water is hot, I have a tea mixture that Zelandoni wants me to take in the morning,” Marthona said, starting to clean up the remains of the late supper from the night before. “Jondalar told me about your habit of making him morning tea. He was determined to make a tea for you to drink when you woke up yesterday. He said you always had a hot cup ready for him, and for once, he wanted you to wake up to tea. I suggested that he make mint, since it tastes good cold, and it seemed you might sleep late.”
“I wondered if it was Jondalar who made that. But were you the one who left the basin and water?” Ayla asked. Marthona smiled and nodded.
Ayla reached for the bentwood tongs used to pick up cooking rocks, took a hot stone from the fire, and dropped it into the tightly woven tea basket full of water. It steamed and hissed and sent up a few preliminary bubbles. She added another, and after a while, she removed the stones and added more. When the water was boiling, both women infused their individual tea mixtures. Though the low table had been moved closer to the entry to make room for the extra sleeping furs, there was ample room for the two women to sit companionably around it on cushions, sipping their hot beverages.
“I’ve been wanting a chance to talk to you, Ayla,” Marthona murmured softly. “I often wondered if Jondalar would ever find a woman he could love.” She almost said “again,” but caught herself. “He always had many friends, was well-liked, but he kept his real feelings to himself and few people knew him well. Thonolan was closer to him than anyone. I always thought he would mate one day, but I didn’t know if he would ever allow himself to fall in love. I believe he has.” She smiled at Ayla.
“It’s true that he often keeps his feelings to himself. I almost mated another man before I realized that. Even though I loved Jondalar, I thought he had stopped loving me,” Ayla said.
“I don’t think there is any doubt. It’s quite obvious that he loves you, and I’m happy he found you.” Marthona took a sip of tea. “I was proud of you the other day, Ayla. It took courage to face people the way you did after Marona’s trick. … You know she and Jondalar had talked of mating, don’t you?”
“Yes, he told me.”
“Though I would not have objected, of course, I will admit that I’m glad he didn’t choose her. She is an attractive woman and everyone always thought she was perfect for him, but I didn’t,” Marthona said.
Ayla rather hoped Marthona would tell her why. The woman stopped and took a drink of her tea.
“I would like to give you something a little more appropriate to wear than the ‘gift’ Marona gave you,” the older woman said when she finished her drink and put the cup down.
“You have already given me something beautiful to wear,” Ayla said. “Dalanar’s mother’s necklace.”
Marthona smiled as she got up and went quietly into her sleeping room. She returned with a garment draped over her arm. She held it up to show Ayla. It was a long tunic in a pale, soft color rather like the whitened stems of grass after the long winter, beautifully decorated with beads and shells, sewings of colored thread, and long fringes, but it was not made of leather. On close inspection, Ayla saw that it was made of thin cords or threads of some fiber crossed over and under each other, rather like basketry in texture, but very rightly woven. How could anyone weave such fine cords like that? It was similar to the mat on the low table, but even more fine.
“I have never seen anything like this,” Ayla said. “What