The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [166]
“Which half will Serenio want?” Barono winked.
“Half of him is more than most,” Carolio quipped, and her expression left no doubt that she was not referring to his height. In the close quarters of the Cave, his skill in the furs had not gone unnoticed. Jondalar flushed, but the ribald laughter brought a final release of tension, both from the concern over him and from Dolando’s reaction to the flatheads.
They brought out a net made of fiber which held up well when wet, spread it out beside the bleeding open half of the sturgeon, and, with some grunting and straining, moved the carcass onto the net and into the water, then tied it to the stern of the boat.
While the rest were struggling with the fish, Carolio turned to Jondalar and said, quietly, “Roshario’s son was killed by flatheads. He was just a young man, not yet Promised, full of fun and daring, and Dolando’s pride. No one knows how it happened, but Dolando had the whole Cave out hunting them. A few were killed—then they disappeared. He didn’t much care for them in the first place, but since then …”
Jondalar nodded, understanding.
“How did that flathead haul his half of this fish away?”
Thonolan asked as they were getting into the boat.
“He picked it up and carried it,” Jondalar said.
“He? He picked it up and carried it?”
“By himself. And he wasn’t even full grown.”
Thonolan approached the wooden structure shared by his brother, Serenio, and Darvo. It was constructed of planks which were leaned against a ridgepole that itself sloped to the ground. The dwelling resembled a tent made of wood, with the triangular front wall higher and wider than the rear one, making trapezoids of the sides. The planks were fastened together like the strakes on the sides of the boats, with the slightly thicker edge overlapping the thinner edge and sewn together.
These were snug, sturdy structures, tight enough so that only in the older ones could light be seen through the cracks of the dried and warped wood. With the sandstone overhang to protect them from the worst elements of the weather, the dwellings were not maintained or caulked the way the boats were. They were lighted inside primarily by the stone-lined fireplace, or by opening the front.
The younger man looked in to see if his brother was still sleeping.
“Come on in,” Jondalar said, sniffling. He was sitting up on the fur-covered sleeping platform, with more furs piled around him and with a cup of something steaming in his hands.
“How’s your cold?” Thonolan asked, sitting on the edge of the platform.
“Cold’s worse, I’m better.”
“No one thought about your wet clothes, and that wind was really blowing down the river gorge by the time we got back.”
“I’m glad you found me.”
“Well, I’m really glad you’re feeling better” Thonolan seemed strangely at a loss for words. He fidgeted, got up and walked toward the opening, then walked back to his brother. “Is there anything I can get you?”
Jondalar shook his head and waited. Something was bothering his brother, and he was trying to get it out. He just needed time.
“Jondalar …” Thonolan started, then paused. “You’ve been living with Serenio and her son for a long time now.” For a moment, Jondalar thought he was going to make some reference to the unformalized status of the relationship, but he was wrong. “How does it feel to be man of your hearth?”
“You’re a mated man, a man of your hearth.”
“I know, but does it make any difference to have a child of your hearth? Jetamio’s been trying so hard to have a baby, and now … she lost another one, Jondalar.”
“I’m sorry …”
“I don’t care if she ever has a baby. I just don’t want to lose her,” Thonolan cried, his voice cracking. “I wish she’d stop trying.”
“I don’t think she has a choice. The Mother gives …”
“Then why won’t the Mother let her keep one!” Thonolan shouted, brushing past Serenio as he ran out.
“He told you about Jetamio … ?” Serenio asked. Jondalar nodded. “She held this one longer, but it was harder on her when she lost it. I’m glad