The Mammoth Hunters (Earth's Children 3)

Crozie’s anger, and her distress, were both apparent. She had tried everything to convince her daughter to ask for help: persuasion, argument, diatribe; nothing worked. Even she had gotten some medicine from Ayla for her cold, and it was stupid of Fralie not to use the help that was available. It was all the fault of that stupid man, that stupid Frebec, but it did no good to talk about it. Crozie had decided she would not say another word.

Fralie’s cough subsided, and she dropped back down on the bed, exhausted. Maybe the other pain, the one she didn’t want to admit to, would not come this time. Fralie waited, holding her breath so as not to disturb anything, fearfully anticipating. An ache started in her lower back. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and tried to will it away. She put a hand on the side of her distended stomach and felt the muscles contract as the pain, and her anxiety, increased. It’s too soon, she thought. The baby shouldn’t be coming for at least another moon cycle.

“Fralie? Are you all right?” Frebec said, still standing there with the water.

She tried to smile at him, seeing his distress, his feeling of helplessness. “It’s this cough,” she said. “Everyone gets sick in spring.”

No one understood him, she thought, least of all her mother. He was trying so hard to show everyone that he was worth something. That’s why he wouldn’t give in, that’s why he argued so much, and was so quick to take offense. He embarrassed Crozie. He didn’t understand that you showed your worth—the number and quality of your a

ffiliations, and the strength of your influence—by how much you could claim from kin and kind to give away, so everyone could see it. Her mother had tried to show him by giving him the right to the Crane, not just the hearth Fralie brought to him when they joined, but the right to claim the Crane as his own birthright.

Crozie had expected gracious acquiescence to her wishes and requests, to show that he appreciated and understood that the Crane Hearth, which was still hers in name, though she had little else, was his to claim. But her demands could be excessive. She had lost so much it was hard for her to give away any of her remaining claim to status, particularly to one who had so little. Crozie feared he would diminish it, and she needed constant reassurance that it was appreciated. Fralie wouldn’t shame him by trying to explain. It was a subtle thing, something you grew up knowing … if you always had it. But Frebec never had anything.

Fralie began to feel an ache in her back again. If she lay there quietly, maybe it would go away … if she could keep from coughing. She was beginning to wish she could talk to Ayla, at least to get something for the cough, but she didn’t want Frebec to think she was siding with her mother. And long explanations would just irritate her throat, and make Frebec defensive. She began coughing again, just as the contraction was reaching a peak. She muffled a cry of pain.

“Fralie? Is it … more than the cough?” Frebec asked, looking at her hard. He didn’t think a cough should make her moan like that.

She hesitated. “What do you mean, more?” she asked.

“Well, the baby … but you’ve had two children, you know how to do these things, don’t you?”

Fralie became lost in a racking cough, and when she regained control, she sidestepped the question.

Light was beginning to show around the edges of the smoke-hole cover when Ayla went back to her bed to finish dressing. Most of the Camp had been awake half the night. First it was Fralie’s uncontrollable cough that woke them, but soon it became apparent that she was suffering from more than a cold. Tronie was having some difficulty with Tasher, who wanted to return to his mother. She picked him up and carried him to the Mammoth Hearth instead. He still wailed, so Ayla took him and carried him around the large hearth, offering him objects to distract him. The wolf puppy followed her. She carried Tasher through the Fox Hearth and the Lion Hearth, and then into the cooking hearth.

Jondalar watched her approaching, trying to quiet and comfort the child, and his heart beat faster. In his mind he willed her to come closer, but he felt nervous and anxious. They had hardly spoken since he moved away and he didn’t know what to say. He looked around trying to think of something that might appease the baby, and noticed a small bone from a leftover roast.

“He might want to chew on this,” Jondalar volunteered, when she stepped into the large communal hearth, holding the bone out to her.

She took the bone and put it in the child’s hand. “Here, would you like this, Tasher?”

The meat was gone, but it still had some flavor. He put the knob end in his mouth, tasted, decided he liked it, and finally quieted.

“That was a good idea, Jondalar,” Ayla said. She was holding the three-year-old, standing close and looking up at him.

“My mother used to do that when my little sister was cranky,” he said.

They looked at each other, hungering for the sight of each other and filling their eyes, not saying anything, but noticing every feature, every shadow and line, every detail of change. He’s lost weight, Ayla thought. He looks haggard. She’s worried, upset about Fralie, she wants to help, Jondalar thought. O Doni, she’s so beautiful.

Tasher dropped the bone, and Wolf snatched it.

“Drop it!” Ayla commanded. Reluctantly, he put it down, but stood guard over it.

“You might as well let him have it now. I don’t think Frebec would like it too well if you gave the bone to Tasher after Wolf had it in his mouth.”

“I don’t want him to keep taking things that aren’t his.”

“He didn’t really take it. Tasher dropped it. Wolf probably thought it was meant for him,” Jondalar said reasonably.

“Maybe you’re right. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to let him keep it.” She signaled, and the young wolf dropped his guard and picked up the bone again, then walked directly to the sleeping furs Jondalar had spread out on the floor, near the flint-working area. He made himself comfortable on top of them, then began gnawing on the bone.

“Wolf, get away from there,” Ayla said, starting after him.

“It’s all right, Ayla … if you don’t mind. He comes often and makes himself at home. I … rather enjoy him.”

“No, I don’t mind,” she said, then smiled. “You always were good with Racer, too. Animals like you, I think.”

“But not like you. They love you. I do …” Suddenly he stopped. His forehead knotted in a frown and he closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes, he stood up straighter and stepped back a pace. “The Mother has granted you a rare gift,” he said, his tone and demeanor much more formal.