The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [117]
“I thought the fish was delicious,” Jondalar said to his brother, “but this stew is superb!”
“Jetamio says it’s traditional. It’s flavored with the dried leaves of bog myrtle. The bark is used in tanning the chamois skins—that’s what gives them the yellow color. It grows in marshes, particularly where the Sister joins the Mother. It was lucky for me they were out collecting it last fall, or they never would have found us.”
Jondalar’s forehead creased as he recalled the time. “You’re right; we were lucky. I still wish there was some way I could repay these people.” His frown deepened when he remembered his brother was becoming one of them.
“This wine is Jetamio’s bride gift,” Serenio said.
Jondalar reached for his cup, took a sip, and nodded. “Is good. Is much good.”
“Very good,” Tholie corrected. “It is very good.” She had no compunctions about correcting his speech; she still had a few problems with the language herself, and she assumed he would rather speak properly.
“Very good,” he repeated, smiling at the short, stocky young woman with the baby at her ample breast. He liked her outspoken honesty and her outgoing nature that so easily overcame the shyness and reserve of others. He turned to his brother. “She’s right, Thonolan. This wine is very good. Even Mother would agree, and no one makes finer wine than Marthona. I think she would approve of Jetamio.” Jondalar suddenly wished he hadn’t said that. Thonolan would never take his mate to meet his mother; it was likely he would never see Marthona again.
“Jondalar, you should speak Sharamudoi No one else can understand when you speak in Zelandonii, and you’ll learn much faster if you make yourself speak it all the time,” Tholie said, leaning forward with concern. She felt she spoke from experience.
Jondalar was embarrassed, but he couldn’t be angry. Tholie was so sincere, and it had been impolite of him to speak in a language no one else could understand. He reddened, but smiled.
Tholie noted Jondalar’s discomfiture, and, though outspoken, she wasn’t insensitive. “Why don’t we learn each other’s language? We may forget our own if we don’t have someone else to talk to once in a while. Zelandonii has such a musical sound, I would love to learn it.” She smiled at Jondalar and Thonolan. “We’ll spend a little time at it every day,” she stated as though everyone obviously agreed.
“Tholie, you may want to learn Zelandonii, but they may not want to learn Mamutoi,” Markeno said. “Did you think of that?”
It was her turn to blush. “No, I didn’t,” she said, with both surprise and chagrin, realizing her presumption.
“Well, I want to learn Mamutoi and Zelandonii I think it’s a good idea,” Jetamio said firmly.
“I, too, think good idea, Tholie,” Jondalar said.
“What a mixture we’re bringing together. The Ramudoi half is part Mamutoi, and the Shamudoi half is going to be part Zelandonii,” Markeno said, smiling tenderly at his mate.
The affection between the two was evident. They make a good match, Jondalar thought, though he couldn’t help but smile. Markeno was as tall as he, though not as muscular, and when they were together, the sharp contrast emphasized each other’s physical traits: Tholie seemed shorter and rounder, Markeno taller and thinner.
“Can someone else join you?” Serenio asked. “I would find it interesting to learn Zelandonii, and I think Darvo might find Mamutoi useful if he wants to go on trading journeys sometime.”
“Why not?” Thonolan laughed. “East or west, if you make a Journey, knowing the language helps.” He looked at his brother. “But if you don’t know it, it doesn’t stop you from understanding a beautiful woman, does