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The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [125]

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beginning. The wedges were placed again down the center of each half, and the process repeated until they were split in half. And then each section was halved again. By the end of the day, the huge log had been reduced to a stack of radially split planks, each one tapering toward the center, making one long edge thinner than the other. A few planks were shorter because of a knot, but they would have uses. There were many more planks than required to build up the sides of the boats. They would be used to construct a shelter for the young couple beneath the sandstone overhang on the high terrace, connected to the dwelling of Roshario and Dolando, and large enough to accommodate Markeno, Tholie, and Shamio during the coldest part of the winter. Wood from the same tree used for both house and boat was thought to add the strength of the oak to the relationship.

As the sun descended, Jondalar noticed a few of the younger men ducking into the woods, and Markeno let Thonolan persuade him to continue working on the dugout base of the boat under construction until almost everyone had gone. It was Thonolan who finally conceded that it was too dark to see.

“There’s plenty of light,” a voice said from behind him. “You don’t know what dark is!”

Before Thonolan could turn around to see who spoke, a blindfold was thrown over his head, and his arms were grabbed and held. “What’s going on?” he shouted, struggling to break away.

The only reply was muffled laughter. He was picked up and carried some distance and, when he was put down, he felt his clothes being removed.

“Stop it! What are you doing? It’s cold!”

“You won’t be cold for long,” Markeno said when the blindfold was removed. Thonolan saw a half dozen smiling young men, all naked. The area was unfamiliar, particularly in the deep twilight, but he knew they were near water.

Around him the forest was a dense black mass, but it thinned on one side to bare the silhouette of individual trees against a deep lavender sky. Beyond them, the widened way of a path revealed reflected silver flashing sinuously from the smooth oily rolling of the Great Mother River. Nearby, light gleamed through cracks of a small, low, rectangular structure of wood. The young men climbed onto the roof, then down into the hut through a hole in the top using a log, leaning at an angle, with steps cut into it.

A fire had been built inside the hut in a central pit, and stones had been placed on top to heat. The walls stood back, making a bench of the ground, which was covered with planks sanded smooth with sandstone. As soon as everyone was in, the entrance hole at the top was loosely covered; smoke would escape through cracks. A glow of coals showed under the hot rocks, and soon Thonolan conceded that Markeno was right. He was no longer cold. Someone threw water on the stones and a billow of steam rose, making it even more difficult to see in the dim light.

“Did you get it, Markeno?” asked the man sitting beside him.

“Right here, Chalono.” He held up the waterbag of wine.

“Well, let’s have it. You’re a lucky man, Thonolan, Mating a woman who makes bilberry wine this good.” There was a chorus of agreement and laughter. Chalono passed the skin of wine, then, showing a square of leather tied into a pouch, he said with a sly grin, “I found something else.”

“I wondered why you weren’t around today,” one man remarked. “Are you sure they’re the right kind?”

“Don’t worry, Rondo. I know mushrooms. At least I know these mushrooms,” Chalono averred.

“You should. You pick them every chance you get.” There was more laughter at the pointed dig.

“Maybe he wants to be Shamud, Tarluno,” Rondo added derisively.

“Those aren’t the Shamud’s mushrooms, are they?” Markeno asked. “Those red ones with the white spots can be deadly if you don’t prepare them right.”

“No, these are nice safe little mushrooms that just make you feel good. I don’t like playing around with the Shamud’s. I don’t want a woman inside me …” Chalono said, then sniggering, “I’d rather get inside a woman.”

“Who’s got the wine?” Tarluno asked.

“I gave

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