The voice of the healer was pitched neither deep nor high, and Thonolan looked for some clue of dress or behavior that would tell him if it was a woman's low alto or a man's high tenor. He couldn't decide, and though he wasn't exactly sure why, he relaxed a bit, feeling confident he was in the best of hands.
Jondalar's relief was so evident when he saw Jetamio come out of the tent with the backframes that she was a little ashamed she hadn't gotten them sooner. She knew his problem, but he was so funny. He thanked her profusely with unfamiliar words that nonetheless communicated his gratitude, and then he headed for the patch of high brush. He felt so much better with dry clothes on, he even forgave Jetamio for laughing.
I suppose I did look rather ridiculous, he thought, but those trousers were wet, and cold. Well, a little laughter is a small price to pay for their help. I don't know what I would have done… I wonder how they knew? Perhaps the healer has other powers – that could explain it. Right now, I'm just glad for the healing powers. He stopped. At least I think that zelandoni has healing powers. I haven't seen Thonolan. I don't know if he's better or not. I think it's time I found out. After all, he is my brother. They can't keep me away if I want to see him.
Jondalar strode back to the camp, put his pack down beside the fire, deliberately took the time to stretch out his damp clothes to dry again, and then headed for the tent.
He nearly bumped into the healer, who was leaving just as he ducked to enter. The Shamud sized him up quickly, and before Jondalar could attempt to say anything, smiled ingratiatingly, stepped aside, and waved him on with an exaggerated graceful gesture, acquiescing to the tall, powerful man.
Jondalar gave the healer an appraising look. No hint of relinquished authority showed in the piercing eyes evaluating him in return, though any further disclosure of intent was as obscure as the ambiguous color. The smile, which had seemed ingratiating at first glance, was more ironic on second look. Jondalar sensed that this healer, like many of that calling, could be a powerful friend or a formidable enemy.
He nodded, as though reserving judgment, briefly smiled his thanks, and went in. He was surprised to see that Jetamio had arrived before he did. She was supporting Thonolan's head, holding a bone cup to his lips.
"I might have known," he said, and his smile was pure joy at seeing his brother awake, and apparently much improved. "You did it again."
Both of them looked up at Jondalar. "What did I do, Big Brother?"
"Within three heartbeats of opening your eyes, you managed to get the prettiest woman around waiting on you."
Thonolan's grin was the most welcome sight his brother could imagine. "You are right about the prettiest woman around." Thonolan looked fondly at Jetamio. "But what are you doing in the spirit world? And while I'm thinking of it, just remember, she's my own personal danii. You can keep your big blue eyes to yourself."
"Don't worry about me, Little Brother. Every time she looks at me, all she can do is laugh."
"She can laugh at me anytime she wants," Thonolan said, smiling at the woman. She smiled in return. "Can you imagine waking up from the dead to that smile?" His fondness was beginning to look adoring as he stared into her eyes.
Jondalar looked from his brother to Jetamio and back again. What is going on here? Thonolan just woke up, they can't have said one word to each other, but I'd swear he was in love. He looked at the woman again, more objectively.
Her hair was a rather nondescript shade of light brown, and she was smaller and thinner than the women Thonolan was usually attracted to. She could almost be mistaken for a girl. She had a heart-shaped face with regular features and was really a rather ordinary-looking young woman; pretty enough, but certainly not exceptional – until she smiled.
Then, by some unexpected alchemy, some mysterious redistribution of light and shadows, some subtle shift in arrangement, she became beautiful, completely beautiful. So complete was the transformation that Jondalar had thought of her as beautiful himself. She had only to smile once to create that impression, yet he had the feeling she didn't usually smile often. He remembered she had seemed solemn and shy at first, though it was hard to believe now. She was radiant, vibrantly alive, and Thonolan was looking at her with an idiotic, lovesick grin.
Well, Thonolan has been in love before, Jondalar thought. I just hope she won't take it too hard when we leave.
One of the laces that held closed the smoke-hole flap in the roof of his tent was frayed. Jondalar was staring at it, but not seeing it. He was wide awake, lying in his sleeping roll wondering what had brought him out of the depths of sleep so quickly. He didn't move, but he was listening, smelling, trying to detect anything unusual that might have alerted him to some impending danger. After a few moments, he slipped out of his bedroll and looked carefully out of the opening of his tent but could find nothing wrong.
A few people were gathered around the campfire. He wandered over, still feeling restless and edgy. Something bothered him, but he didn't know what. Thonolan? No, between the skill of the Shamud and Jetamio's attentive care, his brother was doing well. No, it wasn't Thonolan that was troubling him – exactly.
"Hola," he said to Jetamio as she looked up and smiled.
She didn't find him so laughable any more. Their mutual concern for Thonolan had begun to ripen into friendship, though communication was limited to basic gestures and the few words he had learned.
She gave him a cup of hot liquid. He thanked her with the words he had learned that expressed the concept of thanks for them, wishing he could find a way to repay them for their help. He took a sip, frowned, and took another. It was an herb tea, not unpleasant, but surprising. They customarily drank a meat-flavored broth in the morning. His nose told him the kerfed wooden cooking box near the fire had roots and grain simmering in it, but no meat. It took only a quick glance to explain the change in the morning menu. There was no meat; no one had gone hunting.
He quaffed his drink, put down the bone cup, and hurried back to his tent. While waiting, he had finished making the sturdy spears out of the alder saplings and even tipped them with flint points. He picked up the two heavy shafts that were leaning against the back of the tent, then reached inside for his backframe, took several of the lighter throwing spears, and walked back to the fire. He didn't know many words, but it didn't take many to communicate a desire to go hunting, and before the sun was much higher, an excited group was gathering.
Jetamio was torn. She wanted to stay with the wounded stranger whose laughing eyes made her feel like smiling every time he looked at her, but she wanted to go hunting, too. She never missed a hunt if she could help it, not since she had been able to hunt. Roshario urged her to go. "He'll be fine. The Shamud can take care of him without you for a little while, and I'll be here."
The hunting party had already started out when Jetamio called after them and ran up out of breath, still tying on her hood. Jondalar had wondered if she hunted. Young Zelandonii women often did. For women, it was a matter of choice, and the custom of the Cave. Once they started having children, women usually stayed closer to home, except during a drive. When they went on battue, every able-bodied person was necessary to drive a herd into traps or over cliffs.
Jondalar liked women who hunted – most men of his Cave did, though he'd learned the feeling was by no means universal. It was said that women who had hunted themselves appreciated the difficulties and made more understanding mates. His mother had been noted, especially, for her tracking prowess, and she had often joined a hunt even after she had children.
They waited for Jetamio to catch up, then set off at a good pace. Jondalar thought the temperature was dropping, but they were moving so fast that he wasn't sure until they stopped beside a meandering streamlet winding its way across the flat grassland searching for a way to reach the Mother. He noticed the ice thickening along the edges when he filled up his waterbag. He pushed back his hood, the fur around his face limiting peripheral vision – but before long he wasn't alone in pulling it back on. The air was decidedly nippy.