Ayla was almost unconscious when she felt the solid stones of the riverbed under her. She tried to stumble to her feet as Whinney dragged her across the rocky bottom, taking a few steps onto a beach of smooth round stones at a bend in the river. Then she fell. The rope, still tightly wrapped around her hand, jerked her around and halted the horse.
Jondalar, too, had shivered through the first stages of hypothermia while crossing the river, but he had reached the opposite shore sooner than she, before he became too uncoordinated or irrational. She would have made it across more quickly, but so much debris had gotten caught up in Whinney's rope that it had slowed the horse considerably. Even Whinney was beginning to suffer from the cold river before the slip knot, though swollen from the water, finally worked itself loose, freeing her from the encumbering weight.
Unfortunately, when he first reached the other side, the cold had affected Jondalar enough so that he wasn't entirely coherent. He pulled his outer fur parka over his wet clothing and started out to look for Ayla, on foot, leading the stallion, but he headed in the wrong direction along the river's edge. The exercise warmed him and cleared away the confusion. They had both been carried downstream for some distance, but since she had taken longer to get across, she had to be farther downriver. He turned around and walked back. When Racer nickered and he heard an answering whinny, he started to run.
When Jondalar saw Ayla, she was lying on her back on the rocky shore, beside the patient mare, her arm held up by the rope entangled around her hand. He rushed to her, his heart racing with fear. After first making sure she was still breathing, he gathered her up in his arms and held her close, tears filling his eyes.
"Ayla! Ayla! You're alive!" he cried. "I was so afraid you were gone. But you're so cold!"
He had to get her warm. He loosened the rope from her hand and picked her up. She stirred and opened her eyes. Her muscles were tense and rigid, and she could hardly speak, but she was straining to say something. He bent closer.
"Wolf. Find Wolf," she said in a hoarse whisper.
"Ayla, I have to take care of you!"
"Please. Find Wolf. Lose too many sons. Not Wolf, too," she said through a clenched jaw.
Her eyes were so full of sorrow and pleading that he couldn't refuse. "All right. I'll look for him, but I have to get you into a shelter first."
It was raining hard as he carried Ayla up a gentle slope. It leveled out in a small terrace with a stand of willows, some brush and sedge, and, near the back, a few pines. He looked for a flat place with no water running across it, then quickly set up the tent. After putting down the mammoth hide on top of the ground cover for extra protection from the saturated soil, he brought Ayla in, then the packs, and laid out their sleeping furs. He stripped off her wet clothes and his own as well, put her between the furs, and crawled in with her.
She wasn't quite unconscious, but in a dazed stupor. Her skin was cold and clammy, her body stiff. He tried to cover her with his body to warm her. When she began to shiver again, Jondalar breathed a little easier. It meant she was warming inside, but with the beginnings of a return to more awareness, she also remembered Wolf, and irrationally, almost wildly, she insisted that she was going to find him.
"It's my fault," she said through chattering teeth. "I told him to jump in the river. I whistled. He trusted me. I have to find Wolf." She struggled to get up.
"Ayla, forget about Wolf. You don't even know where to begin to look," he said, trying to hold her down.
Shivering and sobbing hysterically, she tried to get out of the sleeping furs. "I've got to find him," she cried.
"Ayla, Ayla, I'll go. If you stay here, I'll go look for him," he said, trying to convince her to stay under the warm furs. "But promise me you will stay here, and stay covered."
"Please find him," she said.
He quickly put on dry clothes and his outer parka. Then he took out a couple of squares of traveling food, full of energy-rich fat and protein. "I'm going now," he said. "Eat this, and stay in the furs."
She grabbed his hand as he turned to go. "Promise me you will search for him," she said, looking into his troubled blue eyes. She was still shivering, but she seemed to be talking with more ease.
He looked back into her gray-blue eyes, full of worry and pleading and clutched her to him, hard and close. "I was so afraid you were dead."
She held on to him, reassured by his strength, and his love. "I love you, Jondalar, I would never want to lose you, but, please, find Wolf. I couldn't bear to lose him. He's like… a child… a son. I can't give up another son." Her voice cracked and tears filled her eyes.
He pulled back and looked down at her. "I'll look for him. But I can't promise I'll find him, Ayla, and even if I do, I can't promise he'll be alive."
A look of fear and horror filled her eyes; then she closed them and nodded. "Just try to find him," she said, but as he started to move away, she clung to him.
He wasn't sure if he had really planned to search for the wolf when he first started to get up. He had wanted to get some wood for a fire to get some warm tea or soup into her and see to the horses, but he had promised. Racer and Whinney were standing within the grove of willows, their riding blankets and Racer's halter still on, but the sturdy animals seemed fine for the moment, so he headed down the slope.
He didn't know which direction to go when he reached the river, but he finally decided to try downstream. Pulling his hood down farther to keep off the rain, he started hiking along the bank, checking through piles of driftwood and concentrations of debris. He found many dead animals and saw as many carnivores and scavengers, both four-legged and winged, feasting on the river's leavings, even a pack of southern wolves, but none that looked like Wolf.
Finally he turned around and headed back. He would go upstream a way, but he doubted if he'd have any better luck. He didn't really expect to find the animal, and he realized that it saddened him. Wolf could be troublesome sometimes, but he had developed a real affection for the intelligent beast. He would miss him, and he knew Ayla would be distraught.
He reached the rocky shore where he had found Ayla and walked around the bend, not sure how far he ought to go in the other direction, especially when he noticed that the river was rising. He decided they would move the tent farther away from the river as soon as Ayla was fit to travel. Maybe I ought to forget about looking upstream and make sure she is all right, he said to himself, hesitating. Well, maybe I'll go a short distance; she'll ask if I searched in both directions.
He started up the river, working his way around a pile of logs and branches, but when he saw the majestic silhouette of an imperial eagle gliding on outstretched wings, he stopped and watched with awe. Suddenly the large, graceful bird folded his powerful wings and dropped rapidly to the bank of the river, then swooped up again with a large suslik hanging from its talons.
A little farther on, where the bird had found its meal, a healthy tributary, widening into a slight delta, added its share to the waters of the Sister. He thought he saw something familiar on the wide stretch of sandy beach where they came together, and he smiled with recognition. It was the bowl boat, but when he looked closer, he frowned and started running toward it. Beside the boat, Ayla was sitting in the water holding Wolf's head in her lap. A wound above his left eye was still seeping blood.
"Ayla! What are you doing here? How did you get here?" he stormed, more in fear and worry than in anger.
"He's alive, Jondalar," she said, shaking with cold and at the same time sobbing so hard that she was almost incoherent. "He's hurt, but he's alive."
After Wolf had jumped into the river, he swam toward Ayla, but when he reached the lightweight, empty bowl boat skimming over the water, he rested his paws across the poles that were attached to it. He stayed there with the familiar objects, letting the buoyant boat and poles support him. It wasn't until the slip knot came loose, and the boat and poles started careening wildly over the choppy waves, that he was slammed into the heavy, waterlogged tree trunk. By then they were almost at the other side. The boat skittered up on the sandy bank, dragging the poles with the wolf draped across them partially out of the water. The blow had stunned him, but being half-submerged in cold water was worse. Even wolves were subject to hypothermia and death from exposure.
"Come on, Ayla, you're shivering again. We have to get you back. Why did you come out? I told you I'd look for him," Jondalar said. "Here, I'll take him." He lifted the wolf from her lap and then tried to help her up.
After a few steps, he knew they were going to have a difficult time making it back to the tent. Ayla was hardly able to walk, and the wolf was a large, heavy animal. His waterlogged fur added even more weight. The man could not carry both of them, and he knew Ayla would never let him leave Wolf and come back for him later. If only he could whistle for the horses the way Ayla did… but why couldn't he? Jondalar had developed a whistle for Racer, but he hadn't really worked very hard at training him to respond. He'd never had to. The young stallion always came with his dam when Ayla called Whinney.
Maybe Whinney would come to him if he whistled. At least he could try. He mimicked Ayla's signal, hoping he had managed to come close enough, but, just in case they didn't respond, he was determined to keep going. He shifted Wolf in his arms, and he tried to put an arm around Ayla to give her more support.
They hadn't even reached the pile of driftwood and he was already tiring from the effort. He was holding his own exhaustion off by sheer effort of will. He, too, had swum the mighty river, and then had carried Ayla up the slope and set up the tent. And then he had tramped up and down the riverbank searching for the wolf. When he heard a neigh, he looked up. Relief and joy flooded through him at the sight of the two horses.
He laid the wolf across Whinney's back, since she had carried him before and was used to it; then he helped Ayla up on Racer and led him toward the rocky beach. Whinney followed. Ayla, shivering in her wet clothes as the rain began to pour down harder, had trouble staying on the horse when they started up the slope. But, taking it slowly, they made it back to the tent near the grove of trees.
Jondalar helped Ayla down and got her into the tent, but hypothermia was making her irrational again and she was getting hysterical about the wolf. He had to bring him in immediately, then had to promise he would dry him off. He searched through the packs for something with which to rub him down. But when she wanted to bring him into their sleeping roll, he adamantly refused, though he did find a cover for him. While she sobbed uncontrollably, he helped Ayla undress and wrapped her with the furs.
He went out again, removed Racer's halter and the riding blankets from both horses, patted them gratefully, and gave them some words of thanks. Even though horses normally lived outside in all kinds of weather, and were adapted to the cold, he knew they didn't care much for rain, and he hoped they would not suffer for it. Then, finally, Jondalar went into the tent, undressed, and crawled in beside the violently shaking woman. Ayla huddled close to Wolf, while Jondalar cuddled her back, wrapping himself around her. After a time, with the warming body of a wolf on one side and the man on the other, the woman's shaking stopped, and they both gave in to their exhaustion and fell asleep.
Ayla woke up to a wet tongue licking her face. She pushed Wolf away, smiling with joy, then hugged him. Holding his head between her hands, she looked at his wound closely. The rain had washed the dirt away from the injury, and he had stopped bleeding. Though she wanted to treat him with some medicines later, he seemed fine for now. It wasn't so much the bump on the head, but the cold river that had weakened him. Sleep and warmth had been the best medicine. She became conscious that Jondalar had his arms around her, even though he was sleeping, and she lay still being held and holding Wolf, listening to the rain drumming on the tent.
She was remembering bits and pieces of the day before: stumbling through the brush and driftwood, searching the river bank for Wolf; her hand hurting because the rope wrapped around it had become so tight; Jondalar carrying her. She smiled at the thought of him so close to her, then remembered watching him set up the tent. She felt a little ashamed that she had not helped him more, even though she had been so rigid with cold that she couldn't move.
Wolf wriggled out of her constraining hold and went out, nosing his way around the tent flap. She heard Whinney nicker and, with a feeling of joy, almost answered her, but then she remembered Jondalar sleeping. She began to worry about the horses out in the rain. They were used to dry weather, not this wet, soggy rain. Even freezing cold was fine if it was dry. But she recalled that she had seen horses, so some must live in this region. Horses did have undercoats that were thick, dense, and warm even when wet. She supposed they could cope with it, so long as it didn't rain all the time.
She realized that she didn't like the heavy autumn rains that fell in this southern region, though she had welcomed the long wet northern springs, with their warming mists and drizzles. The cave of Brun's clan was south, and it had rained quite a lot in autumn, but she didn't remember such drenching downpours. The southern regions were not all the same. Ayla thought about getting up, but before she got around to it, she went back to sleep.
When she awoke the second time, the man beside her was stirring. As she lay in the furs, there was a difference she couldn't quite place. Then she realized the sound of the rain had stopped. She got up and went outside. It was late afternoon and rather more cool than it had been, and she wished she had put on something warm. She passed her water near a bush, then walked toward the horses that were grazing on sedge grass near the willows where a creek ran through. Wolf was with them. They all came toward her as she approached, and she spent some time stroking and scratching and talking to them. Then she went back in the tent, and into the sleeping furs beside the warm man.
"You're cold, woman!" he said.
"And you're nice and warm," she said, snuggling up to him.
He wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her neck, relieved that her warmth was returning so quickly. It had taken so long for her to warm up after being chilled by the water. "I don't know what I could have been thinking of, letting you get so wet and cold," Jondalar said. "We shouldn't have tried to cross that river."
"But Jondalar, what else could we do? You were right. As hard as it was raining, we would have had to cross some river, and it would have been worse trying to get across one that was coming down the mountain," she said.
"If we had left the Sharamudoi sooner, we would have missed the rain. Then the Sister wouldn't have been nearly as hard to cross," Jondalar said, continuing to berate himself.
"But it was my fault we didn't leave sooner, and even Carlono thought we would make it here before the rains."
"No, it was my fault. I knew what this river was like. If I had made the effort, we would have left earlier. And if we had left that boat behind, it wouldn't have taken so long to get over the mountain, or slowed you down in the river. I was so stupid!"
"Jondalar, why are you blaming yourself?" Ayla asked. "You are not stupid. You could not foresee what would happen. Not even One Who Serves the Mother can do it very well. It's never clear. And we did make it. We're here now, and everyone is all right, thanks to you, including Wolf. We even have the boat, and who knows how useful that might still be."
"But I almost lost you," he said, burying his head in her neck and clutching her so hard that it hurt, though she did not stop him. "I can't tell you how much I love you. I care about you so much, but the words that say it are so small. They are not enough to say what I feel for you." He held her close as if he thought that by holding her tight enough, he could somehow make her part of him, and would therefore never lose her.
She held him tightly, too, loving him and wishing she could do something to relieve his anguish and suddenly overwhelming need. Then she realized she knew what to do. She breathed in his ear and kissed his neck. His response was immediate. He kissed her with a fierce passion, caressing her arms and molding her breasts in his hands, sucking on her nipples with a hungry need. She put her leg around him, and rolled him over on top of her, then opened her thighs. He backed away, prodding and groping with his full member, trying to find her opening. She reached down and helped to guide him in, and she found herself as eager for him as he was for her.
As he plunged in and felt the warm embrace of her deep well, he moaned with the sudden indescribable sensation. All his nightmarish thoughts and fearful worries fled for the moment as the sensuous joy of this wondrous Gift of Pleasure from the Mother filled him, leaving no room for any other thoughts except his love for her. He pulled out, and then he felt her motion match his as they came together again. Her response incited stronger passions in him.
As they backed away and drew together again, he felt so right that she didn't think at all. His body and hers flowed apart and back together in a rhythmic pattern that she gave herself up to completely as it grew faster, glorying in the senses of that moment. Individual fires of feeling raced through her, centering deep within, as they moved back and forth.
He was feeling himself build with volcanic power, waves of excitement washing over him, engulfing him, and then almost before he knew it, bursting through with sweet release. As he moved the last few times, he felt a few aftershocks from the violent eruption, and then the warm and glowing feeling of utter relaxation.
He lay on top of her, catching his breath after the sudden and powerful exertion. She closed her eyes with contentment. After a time he rolled off and cuddled next to her, as she backed into him. Nesting together like two ladles, they lay quietly, happily entwined together.
After quite a long time, Ayla said softly, "Jondalar?"
"Hmmm?" he mumbled. He was in a pleasant, languorous state, not sleepy, but not wanting to move.
"How many more rivers like that will we have to cross?" she asked.
He reached over and kissed her ear. "None."
"None?"
"None, because there are no other rivers quite like the Sister," Jondalar explained.
"Not even the Great Mother River?"
"Not even the Mother is as fast and treacherous, or as dangerous as the Sister," he said, "but we won't be crossing the Great Mother River. We'll stay on this side most of the way to the plateau glacier. When we get close to the ice, there are some people I'd like to visit who live on the other side of the Mother. But that's a long way from here, and by then she will be little more than a mountain stream." He rolled over on his back. "Not that we don't have some good-size rivers to get across yet, but across these plains, the Mother branches into many channels that split off and join again. By the time we see her all together again, she will be so much smaller that you'll hardly recognize her as the Great Mother River."
"Without all the water from the Sister, I'm not sure if I'd recognize her," Ayla said.
"I think you would. As big as the Sister is, when they join, the Mother is still bigger. There is a major river that feeds from the other side just before the Wooded Hills that turn her east. Thonolan and I met some people who took us across on rafts at that place. Several more feeders come in from the big mountains to the west, but we'll be going north up the center plain, and we won't even see them."
Jondalar sat up. The conversation had put him in the mood to think about getting on their way, although they wouldn't be leaving until the following morning. He was rested and relaxed, and he didn't feel like staying in bed any more.
"We won't be crossing many rivers at all until we reach the highlands to the north," he continued. "At least, that's what Haduma's people told me. They say there are a few hills, but it's pretty flat country. Most of the rivers we'll see will be channels of the Mother. They say she wanders all over the place through here. It's good hunting grounds, though. Haduma's people cross the channels all the time to hunt here."
"Haduma's people? I think you told me about them, but you never said much," Ayla said, getting up as well, and reaching for her pack-saddle basket.
"We didn't visit with them long, just long enough for a…" Jondalar hesitated, thinking about the First Rites he had shared with the pretty young woman, Noria. Ayla noticed a strange expression, as though he was slightly embarrassed, but also pleased with himself. "… Ceremony, a festival," he finished.
"A festival to honor the Great Earth Mother?" Ayla asked.
"Ah… yes, as a matter of fact. They asked me… ah, they asked Thonolan and me, to share it with them."
"Are we going to visit Haduma's people?" Ayla said from the opening, holding a Sharamudoi chamois skin to dry herself with after she washed in the creek by the willows.
"I'd like to, but I don't know where they live," Jondalar said. Then, seeing her puzzled expression, he quickly explained. "Some of their hunters found our camp, and then they sent for Haduma. She was the one who decided to have the festival, and she sent for the rest." He paused, thinking back. "Haduma was quite a woman. She was the oldest person I've ever met. Even older than Mamut. She's the mother of six generations." At least I hope so, he thought. "I really would like to see her again, but we can't take the time to look for them. I imagine she's dead by now, anyway, although her son, Tamen, would still be alive. He was the only one who spoke Zelandonii."
Ayla went out, and Jondalar was feeling a strong need to pass his water. He quickly pulled his tunic over his head and went outside, too. While he was holding his member, watching the steaming arc of strong-smelling yellow water pouring on the ground, he wondered if Noria ever did have the baby Haduma said she would, and if that organ he was holding was responsible for it.
He noticed Ayla heading toward the willows with only the chamois skin thrown over her shoulders. He supposed he ought to go and wash, too, although he'd had his fill of cold water today. It wasn't that he wouldn't get into it, if he had to, crossing the river, for example, but it hadn't seemed that washing frequently in cold water was so important when he was traveling with his brother.
And it wasn't that Ayla ever said anything to him, but since she never let cold water stop her, he felt he could hardly use that as an excuse to avoid washing himself – and he had to admit he liked the fact that she usually smelled so fresh. But sometimes she actually broke through ice to reach water, and he wondered how she stood it so cold.
At least she was up and around. He had thought they might have to make camp for several days, as chilled as she was, or even that she might get sick. Maybe all that cold washing has made her accustomed to cold water, he said to himself. Maybe a little washing wouldn't hurt me, either. He came to the realization that he had been watching the way her bare bottom peeked below the edge of the hide, moving back and forth enticingly as she walked.
Their Pleasures had been exciting and more satisfying than he would have imagined, considering how quickly they were over, but as he watched Ayla drape the soft skin over a branch and wade into the creek, he had an urge to start all over again, only this time he would Pleasure her slowly, lovingly, enjoying every part of her.
The rains continued intermittently as they started across the lowland plains nestled between the Great Mother River and the tributary that nearly matched her in size, the Sister. They headed northwest, although their route was far from direct. The central plains resembled the steppes to the east and were in fact an extension of them, but the rivers traversing the ancient basin from north to south played a dominant role in the character of the land. The frequently changing, branching, and widely meandering course of the Great Mother River, in particular, created enormous wetlands with the vast dry grasslands.
Oxbow lakes developed in the sharply curved bends of the larger channels that sprawled over the land, and the marshes, wet meadows, and lush fields that gave diversity to the magnificent steppes were a haven to unbelievable numbers and varieties of birds, but they also caused detours for land-bound travelers. The diversity of the skies was complemented by a rich plant life and a variegated population of animals that paralleled that of the eastern grasslands, but was more concentrated, as though a larger landscape had shrunk while its community of living creatures remained the same size. Surrounded by mountains and highlands that funneled more moisture to the land, the central plains, especially in the south, were also more wooded, often in subtle ways. Rather than stunted dwarfs, the brush and trees that crowded close to watercourses were often full size and filled out. In the southeastern section, near the broad turbulent confluence, bogs and swamps stood in valleys and hollows, and these became enormous during flood seasons. Small soggy fen woods of alder, ash, and birch mired the unwary between knolls capped with groves of willow, occasionally spiced with oak and beech, while pines took root in sandier soils.
Most soils were either a mixture of rich loess and black loams or sands and alluvial gravels, with an occasional outcrop of ancient rock interrupting the flat relief. Those isolated highlands were usually forested with conifers, which sometimes extended down to the plains, providing a place for several species of animals that could not live on the open ground exclusively; life was richest at the margins. But with all the complexity, the primary vegetation was still grass. Tallgrass and short steppe grasses and herbs, feather grasses and fescues, the central steppic plains were an extraordinarily rich, abundantly productive grassland blowing in the wind.
As Ayla and Jondalar left the southern plains and approached the cold north, the season seemed to progress more quickly than usual. The wind in their faces carried a hint of the earth-chilling cold of its source. The inconceivably massive accumulation of glacial ice, stretching over vast areas of northern lands, lay directly in front of them, within a walking distance much less than they had already traveled.
With the changing season, the increasing force of the icy air held a deep undercurrent of its potential power. The rains diminished and finally ceased altogether as ragged streaks of white replaced the thunderheads, the clouds torn to shreds by the strong steady winds. Sharp blasts tore the dry leaves from deciduous trees and scattered them in a loose carpet at their feet. Then, in a sudden change of mood, a sudden updraft lifted the brittle skeletons of summer growth, churned them around furiously and, tiring of the game, resettled them in another place.
But the dry, cold weather was more to the travelers' liking, familiar, even comfortable with their fur-lined hoods and parkas. Jondalar had been told correctly; hunting was easy in the central plains and the animals were fat and healthy after a summer of eating. It was also the time of year when many grains, fruits, nuts, and roots were ripe for harvesting. They had no need to use their emergency traveling food, and they even replenished supplies they had used when they killed a giant deer, then decided to stop and rest for a few days while they dried the meat. Their faces glowed with vigorous health and the happiness of being alive and in love.
The horses were rejuvenated, too. It was their milieu, the climate and conditions to which they had been adapted. Their heavy coats fluffed out with winter growth, and they were frisky and eager each morning. The wolf, nose pointed into the wind, picking up scents familiar to the deep instinctive recesses of his brain, loped contentedly along, made occasional forays on his own, then suddenly appeared again, looking smug, Ayla thought.
River crossings presented no problems. Most waterways ran parallel to the north-south direction of the Great Mother River, though they splashed through some that crossed the plain, but the patterns were unpredictable. The channels meandered so widely they weren't always sure if a stream running across their path was a turn in the river or one of the few streams coming down from higher ground. Some parallel channels ended abruptly in a westerly flowing stream that, in turn, emptied into another channel of the Mother.
Though they sometimes had to detour from their northerly direction because of a wide swing of the river, it was the kind of open grassland that made traveling on horseback such an advantage over traveling on foot. They made exceptionally good time, covering such long distances each day that they made up for previous delays. Jondalar was pleased to think that they were even compensating, somewhat, for his decision to take the long way around so they could visit the Sharamudoi.
The crisp, cold, clear days gave them a wide panoramic view, obscured only by morning mists when the sun warmed the condensed moisture from the night to above freezing. To the east now were the mountains they had skirted when they followed the great river across the hot southern plains, the same mountains over whose southwest corner they had climbed. The glistening glaciered peaks moved imperceptibly closer as the range curved toward the northwest in a great arc.
On their left, the highest chain of mountains on the continent, bearing a heavy crown of glacial ice that reached halfway down its flanks, inarched in ridges from east to west. The towering, shining peaks loomed in the purple distance as a vaguely sinister presence, an apparently insurmountable barrier between the travelers and their ultimate destination. The Great Mother River would take them around the broad northern face of the range to a relatively small glacier that covered, with an armor of ice, an ancient rounded massif at the northwestern end of the alpine foreland of the mountains.
Lower and closer, beyond a grassy plain broken up by pine woods, another massif rose. The granite highland overlooked steppe meadows and the Mother, but gradually decreased as they continued north, blending into the rolling hills that continued all the way to the foothills of the western mountains. Fewer and fewer trees broke the openness of the grassy landscape, and those that did began to take on the familiar dwarfed contortions of trees sculptured by wind.
Ayla and Jondalar had traveled nearly three-quarters of the entire distance, from south to north, of the immense central plains before the first snow flurries began.
"Jondalar, look! It's snowing!" Ayla said, and her smile was radiant. "It's the first snow of winter." She had been smelling snow in the air, and the first snow of the season always seemed special to her.
"I can't understand why you look so happy about it," he said, but her smile was contagious and he couldn't help smiling back. "You're going to be very tired of snow, and ice, before we see the last of it, I'm afraid."
"You're right, I know, but I still love the first snow." After a few more paces, she asked, "Can we make camp soon?"
"It's only a little past noon," Jondalar said, looking puzzled. "Why are you talking about making camp already?"
"I saw some ptarmigan a little while ago. They have started to turn white, but with no snow on the ground, they are easy to see right now. They won't be after it snows, and they always taste so good this time of year, especially the way Creb liked them, but it takes a long time to cook them that way." She was remembering, looking off into the distance. "You have to dig a hole in the ground, line it with rocks, and build a fire in it, then put the birds in, all wrapped in hay, cover them up, and then wait." The words had tumbled out of her mouth so fast, she almost tripped over them. "But it's worth the wait."
"Slow down, Ayla. You're all excited," he said, smiling with amusement and delight. He loved to watch her when she was filled with such enthusiasm. "If you are sure they will be that delicious, then I guess we ought to make an early camp, and go hunt ptarmigan."
"Oh, they will be," she said, looking at Jondalar with a serious expression, "but you've eaten them that way. You know how they taste." Then she noticed his smile and realized he had been playing with her. She pulled her sling out of her waistband. "You make camp, I'll hunt ptarmigan, and if you'll help me dig the hole, I'll even let you taste one," she said, grinning as she urged Whinney on.
"Ayla!" Jondalar called before she got very far. "If you leave me the pole drag, I'll have camp all set up for you, 'Woman Who Hunts.'"
She looked startled. "I didn't know you remembered what Brun named me when he allowed me to hunt," she said, returning and stopping in front of him.
"I may not have your Clan's memories, but I do remember some things, especially about the woman I love," he said, and he watched her full, lovely smile make her even more beautiful. "Besides, if you help me decide where to set up, you'll know where to come back and bring those birds."
"If I didn't see you, I would track you, but I will come and leave the drag. Whinney can't turn very fast with it."
They rode until they saw a likely place to make a camp, near a stream with a level area for the tent, a few trees, and, most important to Ayla, a rocky beach with stones that could be used for her ground oven.
"I might as well help set up camp, since I'm here," Ayla said, dismounting.
"Go hunt your ptarmigan. Just tell me where you want me to start digging a hole," Jondalar said.
Ayla paused, then nodded. The sooner the birds were killed, the sooner she could start cooking them, and they would take some time to cook, and maybe to hunt. She walked over the area and picked a spot that looked right for the ground oven. "Over here," she said, "not too far from these stones." She scanned the beach, deciding that she might as well pick out some nice round stones for her sling while she was there.
She signaled Wolf to come with her and backtracked along their trail, looking for the ptarmigan she had sighted. Once she started looking for the fat birds, she saw several species that resembled them. She was tempted first by the covey of gray partridges she saw pecking at the ripe seeds of ryegrass and einkorn wheat. She identified the surprisingly large number of young by their slightly less defined markings, not by their size. Though the middle-size stocky birds laid as many as twenty eggs in a clutch, they were usually subject to such heavy predation that not many survived to adulthood.
Gray partridges were also flavorful, but Ayla decided she would continue on, keeping their location in mind in case she didn't find the ptarmigan she had a taste for. A flock, several family coveys, of smaller gregarious quails startled her as they took to wing. The rotund little birds were tasty, too, and if she had known how to use a throwing stick that could bring down several at one time, she might have tried for them.
Since she had decided to pass by the others, Ayla was glad to see the usually well camouflaged ptarmigan near the place she had seen them before. Though they still showed some patterning on their backs and wings, their predominantly white feathers made them stand out against the grayish ground and dark gold dry grass. The fat, stocky birds had already grown winter feathers on their legs, extending even to their feet for both warmth and for use as snowshoes. Though quail often traveled longer distances, both partridge and ptarmigan, the grouse that turned white in snow, normally stayed within a general area close to their birthplace, migrating only a short distance between winter and summer ranges.
In the way of that wintry world, which allowed close associations of living things whose habitats would at other times be far apart, each had its niche and both would stay on the central plains through the winter. While the partridge kept to the windblown open grassland, eating seeds and roosting at night in trees near rivers and highlands, the ptarmigan would stay in the drifting snow, burrowing out snow caves to keep warm, and living on twigs, shoots, and buds of brush, often varieties containing strong oils that were distasteful or even poisonous to other animals.
Ayla signaled Wolf to stay while she picked out two stones from her pouch and readied her sling. From Whinney's back, she sighted on one nearly white bird and hurled the first stone. Wolf, understanding her motion as a signal, dashed for another bird at the same time. With a burst of wings and loud squawks of protest, the rest of the covey of heavy birds took to the air, their large flight muscles beating strongly. Their normal camouflaged markings on the ground made a startling change in the air when erect plumage displayed distinct patterns, making it easier for others of their kind to follow and keep together in a flock.
After the impetus of the first surge of activity and sudden flash of feathers, the flight of the ptarmigan eased into a long glide. With a pressure and movement of her body that was second nature, Ayla signaled Whinney to follow the birds, while she prepared to throw a second stone. The young woman grabbed the sling on the downstroke, slid her hand down to the loose end, and, with a smooth practiced action that moved with the motion, she brought it back to her throwing hand and dropped the second stone in the pocket before she let go. Though she sometimes took an extra swing for the first cast, she seldom required the buildup of momentum for her second throw.
Her ability to cast stones so quickly was such a difficult skill that, had she asked, she would have been told it was impossible. But there was no one for her to ask, no one to tell her it couldn't be done, so Ayla had taught herself the double-stone technique. Over the years she had perfected it, and she was very accurate with both stones. The bird she had aimed for on the ground never took flight. As the second bird came falling out of the sky, she quickly grabbed two more stones, but by then the flock was out of reach.
Wolf trotted up with a third in his mouth. Ayla slid off the mare and at her signal the wolf dropped the ptarmigan at her feet. Then he sat down, looking up at her, pleased with himself, a soft white feather clinging to the side of his mouth.
"That was good, Wolf," she said, grabbing his winter-thickened ruff and touching her forehead to his. Then she turned to the horse. "This woman appreciates your help, Whinny," she said in her special language that was partly Clan signs and soft horse nickers. The horse lifted her head, snorted, and stepped closer to the woman. Ayla held the mare's head up and blew into her nostrils, exchanging scents of recognition and friendship.
She wrung the neck of one bird that wasn't dead; then, using some tough grass, she tied the feathered feet of the birds together. She mounted the horse and draped them across the pack-saddle basket behind her. On her way back, she came upon the partridges again, and she couldn't resist trying for a couple of them as well. With two more stones, she got two more birds, but she missed on her try for a third. Wolf got one, and this time she let him keep his.
She thought she would cook them all at once to compare both kinds of fowl. She would save the leftovers for the next day or two. Then she began to think about what she might stuff the cavities with. If they had been nesting, she would have used their own eggs, but she had used grains when she lived with the Mamutoi. It would take a long time to pick enough grains, though. Harvesting wild grains was a time-consuming process best done with a group of people. The big ground roots might be good, maybe with wild carrots and onions.
Thinking about the meal she was going to prepare, the young woman wasn't paying much attention to her surroundings, but she could hardly help noticing when Whinney came to a complete halt. The mare tossed her head and neighed, then stood perfectly still, but Ayla could feel her tension. The horse was actually shaking, and the woman understood why.