The shelters of stone - Jean M. Auel [320]
Though she did not love him, Joplaya did feel a kind of kinship with Echozar and a genuine respect. Though people stared at her because of her exotic beauty, it still made her feel different, and she hated it as much as he did. She also felt comfortable with him, she could talk to him. She decided if she couldn’t have the man she loved, she would mate the man who loved her, and she knew she would never find a man who loved her more than Echozar.
As the group from the camp drew near, Ayla noticed Brukeval become tense. He was staring at Echozar, and there was no friendliness in his expression. It made her aware of the similarities and the differences between them. In Echozar’s case, it was his mother who had given birth to a child that was mixed; with Brukeval, it was his grandmother. Echozar’s Clan characteristics were definitely more pronounced, but to her—and to everyone there—the mixture was obvious in both. Brukeval did, however, resemble the Others more than Echozar.
Though she was learning to appreciate what was pleasing to the Others, she still found the strong Clan features attractive. She had meant it when she told Brukeval that she couldn’t understand why he thought no woman would want him. She probably would consider him, if she weren’t mating Jondalar and if she were a Zelandonii woman. But she knew she wasn’t really a Zelandonii woman, at least not yet, and she personally wouldn’t consider Brukeval at all. While she thought he was handsome, and that he did have a lot to offer, there was something about him that disturbed her. The member of the Clan that he reminded her of most was Broud, and the way he was looking at Echozar right now explained why.
“Greetings, Brukeval,” Jondalar said, walking up to the man with a smile on his face. “I think you know Dalanar, the man of my hearth, but have you met my cousin Joplaya, and her Promised, Echozar?” Jondalar was prepared to do the formal introductions, and Echozar had raised his hands in readiness, but before he could begin, Brukeval interrupted.
“I have no desire to touch a flathead!” he said, putting his hands down to his sides, then he turned aside and stalked away.
Everyone was stunned. It was Folara who finally spoke.
“How could he be so rude!” she said. “I know he blames flatheads for his mother’s death—I guess I should say the Clan now—but that was unforgivable. I know mother taught Brukeval better manners than that, if no one else did. She would be appalled.”
“My mother may have been flathead or Clan. You can say it any way you want, but I am neither,” Echozar said. “I am Lanzadonii.”
“Yes, you are,” Joplaya said, reaching for his hand. “And soon we will be mated.”
“We know there is Clan in Brukeval’s lineage, too,” Dalanar said. “It’s obvious. If he can’t bear to touch someone with that background, how can he stand himself?”
“He can’t. That’s his problem,” Jondalar said. “Brukeval hates himself. He was teased a lot when he was young, other children used to call him a flathead, and he always denied it.”
“But he can’t change what he is no matter how much he denies it,” Ayla said.
No one had lowered their voices, and Brukeval had excellent hearing. He heard everything that was said. He had another characteristic of the Others that the Clan lacked, he cried tears, and as he walked away, tears filled his eyes. Even her, he said to himself after Ayla’s comment. I thought she was different. I thought she meant it when she said she would consider me if Jondalar were gone, but she thinks I’m a flat-head, too. She didn’t mean it. She would never consider me. The more he thought