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sputtered.
    “Don’t you know I’ve seen that look in your eyes?Don’t you think I understand how a woman who loves you feels inside?” Ayla said.
    “Some people would be jealous if they saw someone they loved looking at someone else with love,” he said.
    Zelandoni suspected that the “some people” he was thinking of was himself. “Don’t you think she can see a handsome young man and a fat old woman, Jondalar? It’s what anyone would see. Your love for me is no threat to her. If your memory still blinds you, I am grateful enough.”
    She turned to Ayla. “I wasn’t sure about you. If I had felt you weren’t right for him, it would not matter how far you have traveled, you would never mate him.”
    “Nothing you could do would stop it,” Ayla said.
    “See?” Zelandoni said, turning to look at Jondalar. “I told you if she was right for you, I couldn’t hurt her.”
    “Did you think Marona was right for me, Zelandoni?” Jondalar said with a touch of irritation, beginning to feel as though between them, he had no right to make up his own mind. “You never objected when I was promised to her.”
    “That didn’t matter. You didn’t love her. She couldn’t hurt you.”
    Both women were looking at him, and though they bore no resemblance to each other, their expressions were so similar, they seemed to look alike. Suddenly Jondalar laughed. “Well, I’m glad to know the two loves of my life are going to be friends,” he said.
    Zelandoni raised an eyebrow and gave him a stern look. “Whatever makes you think we are going to be friends?” she said, but she smiled to herself as she left.
    Jondalar felt a strange set of mixed emotions as he watched Zelandoni leave, but he was pleased that the powerful woman appeared willing to accept Ayla. His sister had been friendly toward her, too, and his mother. All the women that he really cared about seemed ready to welcome her—at least for now, he thought. His mother had even told her she would do whatever she could to make Ayla feel at home.
    The leather drape across the entrance moved and Jondalar felt a tingle of surprise when he saw his mother,since he had just been thinking about her. Marthona entered, carrying the preserved stomach of some middle-size animal filli of a liquid that had seeped through the nearly waterproof container enough to stain it a deep purple. Jondalar’s face lit up with a grin.
    “Mother, you brought out some of your wine!” he said. “Ayla, do you remember the drink that we had when we stayed with the Sharamudoi? The bilberry wine? Now you’ll get a chance to taste Marthona’s wine. She’s known for it. No matter what fruit most people use, their juice often turns sour, but mother has a way with it.” He smiled at her and added, “Maybe someday she’ll tell me her secret.”
    Marthona smiled back at the tall man, but made no comment. From her expression, Ayla sensed that she did have a secret technique, and that she was good at keeping secrets, not only her own. She probably knew many. There were layers and hidden depths to the woman, for all that she was forthright and honest in what she said. And for all that she was friendly and welcoming, Ayla knew that Jondalar’s mother would reserve judgment before fully accepting her.
    Suddenly Ayla was reminded of Iza, the woman of the Clan who had been like a mother to her. Iza also knew many secrets, yet, like the rest of the Clan, she didn’t lie. With a language of gestures, and nuances conveyed by postures and expressions, they couldn’t lie. It would be known immediately. But they could refrain from mentioning. Though it might be understood that something was held back, it was allowed, for the sake of privacy.
    This was not the first time she had been reminded of the Clan recently, she realized. The Ninth Cave’s leader, Jondalar’s brother Joharran, had reminded her of Brun, her clan’s leader. Why did Jondalar’s kin remind her of the Clan? she wondered.
    “You