The Land of Painted Caves by Jean M. Auel Page B

didn’t even realize he projected it, but Beladora’s mate was very aware of it. Without saying a word, Kimeran had stepped in and made his claim known.
    Ayla observed the byplay and was so intrigued that even though Jondalar was her mate, she didn’t feel any jealousy. She did, however, begin to appreciate the comments she had been hearing about him ever since they had arrived. At a deeper level she knew that Jondalar was only appreciating; he had no desire to do more than look. There was another side to him, one that he rarely showed even to her, and then only when they were alone.
    Jondalar’s emotions had always been too strong, his passions too great. All his life he had struggled to control them and had finally managed only by learning to keep his feelings to himself. It was not easy for him to show the full intensity of his feelings. That was why he never displayed publicly the depth of his love for her, but sometimes when they were alone he couldn’t control it. It was so powerful, it sometimes overwhelmed him.
    When Ayla turned her head, she noticed Zelandoni Who Was First observing her, and understood that she, too, had been aware of the unspoken interactions and was trying to judge her response. Ayla gave her a knowing smile, then turned her attention to her baby, who was squirming in her carrying blanket, trying to find a way to nurse. She approached the handsome young mother who was standing beside Jayvena.
    “Greetings, Beladora. I am glad to see you, especially with your children,” she said. “Jonayla has soaked her padding. I brought some extra to replace it; would you show me where I can change it?”
    The woman with a baby on each hip smiled. “Come with me,” she said, and the three women started toward the shelter.
    Beladora had heard people talk about Ayla’s unusual accent, but she hadn’t really heard her speak before. She was in labor during the Matrimonial when Jondalar mated his foreign woman, and she’d had little occasion to talk to Ayla later. She was busy with her own concerns, but now she knew what they meant. Though Ayla spoke Zelandonii very well, she just couldn’t make some of the sounds exactly right, but Beladora was rather pleased to hear her. She had come from a region far to the south, and though her speech wasn’t as unusual as Ayla’s, she spoke Zelandonii with her own distinctive accent.
    Ayla smiled when she heard her talk. “I think you were not born a Zelandonii,” she said. “Just as I was not.”
    “My people are known as the Giornadonii. We are neighbors of a Cave of Zelandonii far south of here, where it’s much warmer.” Beladora smiled. “I met Kimeran when he traveled with his sister on her Donier Tour.”
    Ayla wondered what a “Donier Tour” was. Obviously, it had something to do with being a Zelandoni, since “donier” was another word for One Who Served The Great Mother, but Ayla decided she would ask the First later.
       The fire’s lambent flames cast a comforting ruddy glow beyond the confines of the oblong hearth that contained it, and painted a warm dancing light on the limestone walls of the abri. The rock ceiling of the overhanging ledge above the fire reflected the glowing hue down on the scene, giving the people a radiant look of well-being. A delicious communal meal that had taken many people a great deal of time and effort to prepare had been consumed, including a huge haunch of megaceros roasted on a sturdy spit stretched across large forked branches over that same extended rectangular firepit. Now the Seventh Cave of the Zelandonii along with many relatives from the Second Cave and their visitors from the Ninth and Third Caves were ready to relax.
    Beverages had been offered: several varieties of tea, a fermented fruity wine, and the alcoholic brew called barma made from birch sap, with additions of wild grains, honey, or various fruits. They had each taken a cup of their favorite drink, and were milling about, looking for a