“How do you know so much about animals?” Gallara said.
“She’s a hunter, and she’s caught almost every kind of animal there is,” Jondalar said. “She can kill a hyena with a stone, catch a fish with her bare hand, and birds come to her whistle, but she usually lets them go. Just this spring, she led a lion hunt, and killed at least two with her spear-thrower.”
“I didn’t lead the hunt,” Ayla said, frowning. “Joharran did.”
“Ask him,” Jondalar said. “He says you led the hunt. You were the one who knew about lions, and how to go after them.”
“I thought she was a Zelandoni, not a hunter,” Kaleshal said.
“She’s not a Zelandoni yet,” Galliadal said. “She’s an acolyte, in training, but I understand a very good healer already.”
“How can she know so many things?” Kaleshal asked, doubt in his tone.
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sp; “She had no choice,” Jondalar said. “She lost her people when she was a five-year, was adopted by strangers and had to learn their ways, then lived alone for a few years before I found her, or I should say, she found me. I had been attacked by a lion. She rescued me, and treated my wounds. When you lose everything at such a young age, you have to adapt and learn quickly or you won’t survive. She’s alive because she was able to learn so many things.”
Ayla was paying attention to Wolf, stroking him and rubbing behind his ears, keeping her head down, trying not to listen. It always embarrassed her when people talked about her as though the things she had done were accomplishments. It made her feel as though she thought she was important, and that made her uncomfortable. She didn’t think she was important, and she didn’t like being singled out as different. She was just a woman, and a mother, who had found a man to love and people like herself, most of whom had come to accept her as one of them. Once she had wanted to be a good Clan woman; now she just wanted to be a good Zelandonii woman.
Levela walked up to Ayla and Wolf. “I think they are getting ready to tell the next story,” she said. “Are you staying to hear it?”
“I don’t think so,” Ayla said. “Jondalar may want to stay. I’ll ask him, but I think I’ll come back another time to listen to stories. Are you staying?”
“I thought I might see if there is anything good left to eat. I’m getting a little hungry, but I’m tired, too. I may go back to our camp soon,” Levela said.
“I’ll go with you to get something to eat. Then I have to pick up Jonayla from your sister.” Ayla took a few steps to where Jondalar and the others were talking, and waited until there was a break in the conversation. “Are you going to stay to hear the next story?” she asked.
“What do you want to do?”
“I’m getting tired and so is Levela. We thought we’d go and see if there is anything good left to eat,” Ayla said.
“That sounds fine to me. We can come back another time to listen to more stories. Is Jondecam coming?” Jondalar said.
“Yes, I am.” They heard his voice coming toward them. “Wherever you are going.”
The four of them left the storytellers’ camp and headed for the area where the food had been gathered together. Everything was cold, but cold slices of bison and venison were still tasty. Globular root vegetables of some variety were soaking in a rich broth that had a thin layer of congealed fat on top, which added flavor. Fat was a desirable quality, relatively rare on free-ranging wild animals, and necessary for survival. Hidden behind some empty bone platters they found a woven bowl with some round blue-colored berries left in it, several varieties mixed together like huckleberries, bearberries, and currants, which they gladly shared. Ayla even found a couple of bones for Wolf.
She gave one to the canine, which he carried in his mouth until he found a comfortable place to settle down and gnaw on it, near the place where his people ate. Ayla wrapped the other one that had more meat on it in some large leaves that had lined a platter to make a nice presentation, to carry back to the camp for later. She tucked the bone into the small one-sided haversack that she used to carry things, especially things for Jonayla like a hard rawhide scrap that the baby liked to chew on, a hat and a small extra blanket, and some soft absorbent material like mouflon wool that she stuffed around the baby. She also carried her tinder kit for starting fires in a pouch tied to her waist, and her personal dishes and eating knife. They found some logs with pads on them nearby, obviously dragged there for seating.
“I wonder if any of mother’s wine is left,” Jondalar remarked.
“Let’s go see,” Jondecam said.
There was not even a drop, but Laramar had noticed them, and hurried over with a freshly opened waterbag of barma. He filled the personal cups of both the men, but both Ayla and Levela said they didn’t want much, and would just take a sip from the men’s drinks. Ayla didn’t want to make pleasant talk with the man for too long. After a few minutes, they went back to the logs with pads on them that were near the food. When they finished, they strolled back to Proleva’s shelter at the camp of the Third Cave.
“There you are. You’re back early,” Proleva said, after they brushed each other’s cheeks in greeting. “Did you see Joharran?”
“No,” Levela said. “We only listened to one story, then got some food. It was a story about Ayla, sort of.”
“Actually, it was about Wolf. It was a story about a boy who turned into a wolf that loved a woman,” Jondalar said. “Wolf came and found Ayla right in the middle of it, which pleased Galliadal and the three young people of his hearth, who were helping him tell the story.”
“Jonayla is still sleeping. Would you like a nice cup of hot tea?” Proleva said.
“I don’t think so. We’re going back to our camp,” Ayla said.
“You’re not going back, too?” Velima said to Levela. “We’ve hardly had any time to visit. I want to know about your pregnancy and how you are feeling.”
“Why don’t you stay here tonight,” Proleva said. “There’s room for all four of you. And Jaradal would love to see Wolf when he wakes up.”