The valley of horses_ a novel - Jean M. Auel [75]
She answered him, gesturing toward the tent that had been set up nearby, glowing from the firelight within. He shook his head with frustration. It seemed that she almost understood him; he just couldn’t understand her.
“I don’t suppose it matters,” he said. “But I wish your healer would let me stay with Thonolan. Even without words, it was clear my brother would get no help until I left. I don’t doubt the healer’s ability. I want to stay with him, that’s all.”
He was looking at her so earnestly that she laid a hand on his arm to reassure him. He tried to smile, but it was pained. The flap of the tent caught his attention as an older woman came out.
“Jetamio!” she called, adding other words.
The young woman got up quickly, but Jondalar held her hand to detain her. “Jetamio?” he asked, pointing to her. She nodded. “Jondalar,” he said, tapping his own chest.
“Jondalar,” she repeated slowly. Then she looked toward the tent, tapped herself, then him, and pointed to it,
“Thonolan,” he said. “My brother’s name is Thonolan.”
“Thonolan,” she said, repeating it as she hurried toward the tent. She had a slight limp, Jondalar noticed, though it didn’t seem to hinder her.
His trousers were still damp, but he pulled them on anyway and made a dash for a wooded copse, not bothering to fasten them or put his boots on. He had been restraining his urge ever since he woke up, but his extra clothing was in his backframe, which had been left behind in the large tent where the healer was treating Thonolan. Jetamio’s grin of the evening before made him think twice about casually sauntering over to the secluded patch of brush wearing nothing but his short inner shirt. Nor did he want to chance breaching some custom or taboo of these people who were helping him—not with two women in the camp.
He had first tried to get up and walk in his sleeping roll, and he had waited so long before it occurred to him to put on his trousers, wet or not, that he was close to forgetting his embarrassment and ready to make a run for it. As it was, Jetamio’s laughter followed him.
“Tamio, don’t laugh at him. It’s not nice,” the older woman said, but the force of her admonition was lost as she tried to suppress her own laughter.
“Oh, Rosh, I don’t mean to make fun of him, I just can’t help it. Did you see him try to walk in his sleeping bag?” She started giggling again, though she struggled to contain it. “Why didn’t he just get up and go?”
“Maybe the customs of his people are different, Jetamio. They must have traveled a long way. I’ve never seen clothes like theirs before, and his language isn’t even close. Most travelers have a few words that are similar. I don’t think I could pronounce some of his words.”
“You must be right. He must have some objection to showing his skin. You should have seen him blush last night just because I saw a little of his thigh. I never saw anyone so glad to see us, though.”
“Can you blame him?”
“How is the other one?” the young woman said, serious again. “Has the Shamud said anything, Roshario?”
“I think the swelling is down, and the fever, too. At least he’s sleeping quieter. The Shamud thinks he was gored by a rhino. I don’t know how he lived through it. He wouldn’t have much longer if that tall one hadn’t thought of that way to signal for help. Even so, it was luck we found them. Mudo must have smiled on them. The Mother always has favored handsome young men.”
“Not enough to keep … Thonolan from getting hurt. The way he was gored … Do you think he’ll walk again?”
Roshario smiled tenderly at the young woman. “If he has half the determination you did, he’ll walk, Tamio.”
Jetamio’s cheek reddened. “I think I’ll go and see if the Shamud needs anything,” she said, ducking toward the tent, and trying very hard not to limp at all.
“Why don’t you bring the tall one his pack,” Roshario called after her, “so he won’t have to wear wet britches.”
“I don’t know