"Look, Ayla," Jondalar said, bending down on one knee to examine the ground that was covered with the imprint of horse hooves. "The whole herd must have been here last night. The trail is clear. I told you it would be easy to track them once it got light."
Ayla looked down at the tracks, then up toward the northeast in the direction they seemed to be heading. They were near the edge of the small woods, and she could see far into the distance across the open grassy plain, but as hard as she tried, she could not see a single horse. She found herself thinking, The tracks are plain enough here, but who knows how long we will be able to follow them?
The young woman had not slept at all after she had been awakened by the commotion and discovered that her beloved friend was gone. The moment the sky lightened, shading from ebony to indigo, she was up, though it was still too dark to see any distinctive features on the land. She had stirred up the fire and started water boiling for tea while the heavens transformed, shifting through a monochromatic spectrum of gradually paler shades of blue.
Wolf had crept near her while she was staring into the flames, but he had to whine to get her attention. She had taken the opportunity to examine him closely. Though he had winced when she prodded deeply, she was grateful to find no broken bones. A bruise was bad enough. Jondalar had gotten up soon after the morning tea was ready, still well before it was light enough to search for signs.
"Let's hurry and leave right away, so they don't get too far ahead of us," Ayla said. "We can pile everything into the bowl boat and… no… we can't do that." She suddenly realized that, without the mare she wanted to find, they couldn't just pack up and go. "Racer doesn't know how to pull the pole drag, so we can't take it or the bowl boat. We can't even take Whinney's pack-saddle basket."
"And if we're going to have any chance to catch up with that herd, we'll have to ride double on Racer. That means we can't even take his pack-saddle. We'll have to cut our load down to bare necessities," Jondalar said.
They stopped to digest the new situation the loss of Whinney had put them in. Both of them realized there were some hard decisions to make.
"If we take just the sleeping rolls and the ground cover, which could be used as a low tent, and roll them up together, that should fit on Racer's back behind us," Jondalar suggested.
"A low tent should be enough," Ayla agreed. "That's all we ever took when we went with the hunters of our clan. We used a stick to prop up the front, and rocks or heavy bones that we found to weigh it down around the edges." She began to remember the times that she and several women accompanied the men when they went hunting. "The women had to carry everything except the hunting spears, and we had to move fast to keep up, so we traveled light."
"What else did you take? How light do you think we can travel?" Jondalar asked, his curiosity piqued.
"We'll need the fire-making kit and some tools. A chopper to cut wood to burn, and to break up the bones of any animals we might need to butcher. We can burn dried dung and grass, too, but we should have something to cut the stems. A knife to skin animals, and a sharp one to cut meat," she began. Ayla was remembering not only the times that she accompanied the hunters, but the time she traveled alone after she left the clan.
"I'll wear my belt with the loops for holding my axe, and my ivory-handled knife," Jondalar said. "You should wear yours, too."
"A digging stick is always a help, and it can be used to prop up the tent. Some extra warm clothes in case it turns really cold and extra foot-coverings," the woman continued.
"An extra pair of boot liners. That's a good idea. Under tunics and pants, fur mitts, and we can always wrap our sleeping furs around us, if we have to."
"A waterbag or two…"
"We can tie those to our belts, too, and with enough cord to make a loop to go over the arm, we can wear them close to the body if it gets too cold, so they won't freeze."
"I'll need my medicine bag, and maybe I should take the sewing kit – it doesn't take much room – and my sling."
"Don't forget the spear-throwers and spears," Jondalar added. "Do you think I should take any flint-knapping tools, or flint blanks, in case a knife or something breaks?"
"Whatever we take, it should be no more than I can carry on my back… or could if I had a carrying basket."
"If anyone carries anything on his back, I think it should be me," Jondalar said, "but I don't have my backframe."
"I'm sure we can make a back-carrier of some kind, probably out of one of the pack-saddles and some rope or thong, but how can I sit behind you if you're wearing it?" Ayla asked.
"But I'm going to sit behind…" They looked at each other and smiled. They even had to decide how to ride, and both of them had made their own assumptions. It was the first time Ayla had smiled all morning, Jondalar noticed.
"You have to guide Racer, so I have to be in back," Ayla said.
"I can guide him with you in front of me," the man said, "but if you are behind you won't be able to see anything but my back. I don't think you'd be happy if you couldn't see ahead, and we both need to be watching the trail. It may be harder to follow over hard ground or where there are other tracks to confuse it, and you are a good tracker."
Ayla's smile widened. "You're right, Jondalar. I don't know if I could stand it if I couldn't see ahead." She understood that he had been worrying about following the trail left by the horses, just as she had, and had even considered her feelings. Tears suddenly filled her eyes with the love she felt overflowing inside her, and then the tears overflowed to match.
"Don't cry, Ayla. We'll find Whinney."
"I wasn't crying about Whinney. I was thinking how much I love you, and the tears just came out."
"I love you, too," he said, reaching for her, feeling a constriction in his own throat.
Suddenly, she was in his arms, sobbing on his shoulder, and the tears that came were for Whinney as well. "Jondalar, we've got to find her."
"We will. We'll just keep looking until we do. Now, how about fixing up a backpack for me. Something that can hold the spear-throwers and some spears on the outside, where they will be easy to reach."
"That shouldn't be too hard. We'll have to take dried traveling food, of course," Ayla said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
"How much do you think we'll need?" he asked.
"It depends. How long will we be gone?" she asked.
The question stopped them both. How long would they be gone? How long would it take them to find Whinney and get her back?
"It probably won't take more than a few days to track the herd and find her, but perhaps we should take enough for half a moon cycle," Jondalar said.
Ayla paused, thinking of the counting words. "That's more than ten days, maybe as much as three hands, fifteen days. Do you think it will take that long?"
"No, I don't think so, but it's best to be prepared," Jondalar said.
"We can't leave this camp alone for that long," Ayla said. "Some kind of animal will come and tear it apart, wolves or hyenas or wolverines or bears… no, bears are sleeping, but something. They'll chew up the tent, the bowl boat, anything leather, and the extra food. What will we do with everything we have to leave behind?"
"Maybe Wolf could stay behind and watch the camp?" Jondalar said, wrinkling his forehead. "Wouldn't he stay if you told him to? He's hurt, anyway. Wouldn't it be better for him not to travel?"
"Yes, it would be better for him, but he won't stay. He would for a while, but he'd come looking for us if we didn't get back within a day or so."
"Maybe we could tie him close to the camp…"
"No! He would hate that, Jondalar!" Ayla exclaimed. "You wouldn't like to be made to stay someplace that you didn't want to be! Besides, if wolves or something did come, they could attack him and he wouldn't be able to fight, or run out of their way. We'll just have to think of some other way to protect our things."
They walked back to their camp in silence, Jondalar a little chagrined and Ayla worried, but both of them still trying to resolve the problem of what to do with their gear while they were gone. As they approached the tent, Ayla remembered something.
"I have an idea," she said. "Maybe we could put everything in the tent and close it up. I still have some of that wolf repellent I made to keep Wolf from chewing on things. I could soften it up and spread it on the tent. That might keep some animals away."
"It might, for a while at least, until the rains washed it away, and that could take some time, but it wouldn't keep out the ones that tried to dig or burrow under it." Jondalar paused. "Why couldn't we gather everything together and wrap it up with a tent? Then you could put your repellent on it… but we shouldn't just leave it out."
"No, I think we have to get it up, off the ground, like we do with the meat," Ayla said, then more excited, "Maybe we could put it up on the poles. And cover it with the bowl boat, to keep the rain away."
"That's a good idea!" Jondalar said, then paused again. "But those poles could be knocked over by a cave lion, or even a determined pack of wolves or hyenas." He looked around trying to think, and he noticed a large clump of brambles with long leafless canes full of sharp thorns spreading out from the middle. "Ayla," he said, "do you think we could poke the three poles through the middle of those brambles, tie them together about halfway up, put our tent bundle on top of that, and cover it all with the bowl boat?"
Ayla's smiled broadened as he talked. "I think we could carefully cut some of those canes so we could get close enough to get the poles in and tied, and put everything on top, then weave them back in with the others. Small animals would still be able to get to it, but most of them are sleeping, or staying in their nests, and those sharp thorns would probably keep the bigger animals away. Even lions will avoid sharp thorns. Jondalar, I think it would work!"
Selecting the few items they could take required thought and consideration. They decided to take a little extra flint and a few essential tools to work it with, some extra rope and cordage, and as much food as they could pack. In sorting through her things, Ayla located the special belt and the mammoth-tusk dagger that Talut had given to her at the ceremony when she was adopted by the Lion Camp. The belt had thin leather thongs threaded through it that could be pulled out into loops for carrying things, in particular the dagger, although the carrying belt could also be used to hold many other useful objects close at hand.
She tied the belt around her hips, over her outer fur tunic, then took the dagger out and turned it over in her hands, wondering if she should take it. Though its point was very sharp, it was more ceremonial than practical. Mamut had used one like it to cut her arm, and then, with the blood he had drawn, to mark the ivory plaque that he had worn around his neck, counting her among the Mamutoi.
She had also watched a similar dagger used to make tattoos, by cutting fine lines in the skin with the point. Black charcoal from ash wood was then put into the resulting wounds. She didn't know that ash trees produced a natural antiseptic that inhibited infection, and it was unlikely that the Mamut who told her knew exactly why it worked. She only knew that it had been strongly impressed on her never to use anything but burned ash wood to darken the scar when making a tattoo.
Ayla put the dagger back in its rawhide sheath and left it there. Then she picked up another leather sheath that protected the extremely sharp flint blade of a small ivory-handled knife Jondalar had made for her. She put it through a loop in her belt, and then she put the handle of the hatchet he had given her through yet another loop. The stone head of the small axe was also wrapped in leather to protect it.
She decided that there was no reason the belt couldn't hold her spear-thrower. Then she tucked her sling through it, and she finally tied on the pouch that held stones for her sling. She felt weighted down, but it was a convenient way to carry things when they had to travel with very little. She added her spears to the ones Jondalar had already put in the carrier of the backpack.
It took longer than they had thought to decide what to take, and even more time to safely stow everything they were leaving behind. Ayla felt anxious over the delay, but by noon they were finally mounted and leaving.
When they started out, Wolf loped along beside them, but he soon lagged behind, obviously in some pain. Ayla worried about him, not sure how far or how fast he could travel, but she decided she would have to let him follow at his own pace, and if he couldn't keep up, he would have to catch up when they stopped. She was torn by concern for both animals, but Wolf was nearby and, though injured, she felt confident that he would recover. Whinney could be anywhere, and the longer they delayed, the farther away she might be.
They followed the trail of the herd more or less northeast for some distance; then the tracks of the horses inexplicably changed direction. Ayla and Jondalar overshot the turn and thought for a moment that they had lost the trail. They turned back, but it was late afternoon by the time they found it again, going east, and it was near nightfall when they came to a river.
It was evident that the horses had crossed, but it was getting too dark to see the hoofprints and they decided to camp beside the river. The question was, which side? If they crossed now, their wet clothes would probably dry before morning, but Ayla was afraid Wolf would not be able to find them if they crossed the water before he caught up with them. They decided to wait for him and set up their camp where they were.
With their minimal gear, the camp felt bare and depressing. They hadn't seen any more than tracks the whole day. Ayla was beginning to worry that they might be following the wrong herd, and she was worried about Wolf. Jondalar tried to ease her anxieties, but when Wolf hadn't appeared by the time the night sky was filled with stars, her concern for him grew. She waited up quite late, but when Jondalar finally convinced her to join him in their sleeping furs, she still couldn't go to sleep, though she was tired. She had almost dozed off when she felt a cold wet nose nuzzle her.
"Wolf! You made it! You're here! Jondalar, look! Wolf is here," Ayla cried, feeling him wince under her hugs. Jondalar felt relieved and glad to see him, too, though he told himself his happiness was mostly for Ayla's sake. At least she might get some sleep. But first she got up to give the animal the share she had saved for him of their meal, a stew made of dried meat, roots, and a cake of traveling food.
Earlier, she had mixed dried willowbark tea into a bowl of water she had put aside for him, and he was thirsty enough to lap it up, pain-killing medication and all. He curled up beside their sleeping roll and Ayla fell asleep with one arm around him, while Jondalar cuddled close and put an arm around her. In the freezing cold but clear night, they slept in their clothes, except for their boots and fur outer garments, and they didn't bother with setting up the low tent.
Ayla thought Wolf seemed better in the morning, but she took more willowbark out of her otter-skin medicine bag and added a cup of the decoction to his food. They all had to face crossing the cold river, and she wasn't sure how it would affect the animal's injury. It might chill him too much, but on the other hand, the cold water might actually relieve the healing wound, and the internal bruising.
But the young woman wasn't any too eager to get her clothing wet. It wasn't the dousing of cold water so much – she had often bathed in colder water – it was the idea of wearing wet trousers and footwear in the near-freezing air. When she started to wrap the upper leather of her high-topped moccasinlike boots around her calf, she suddenly changed her mind.
"I'm not going to wear these into the water," she declared. "I'd rather go barefoot and get my feet wet. At least I'd have dry footwear to put on when we get across."
"That may not be a bad idea," Jondalar said.
"In fact, I'm not even going to wear these," Ayla said, pulling off her trousers and standing there bare from her tunic down – which made Jondalar smile and want to do something else besides chase horses. But he knew Ayla was too concerned about Whinney to think about dallying.
As funny as it might look, he had to admit it was an intelligent thought. The river wasn't exceptionally large, though it did look swift. They could cross the water riding double on Racer, with bare legs and feet, then put dry clothes on when they reached the other side. It would not only be more comfortable, it would keep them from a prolonged chill.
"I think you're right, Ayla. It's better not to get these wet," he said, pulling off his leg-coverings.
Jondalar put on the backpack, and Ayla held the sleeping roll, just to make sure it wouldn't get wet. The man felt a little silly getting up on the horse with his lower half bare, but feeling Ayla's skin between his legs made him forget it. The obvious result of his thoughts was not lost on her. If she hadn't been so filled with her need to hurry, she, too, could have been tempted to stay a little longer. In the back of her mind she thought that some other time they might ride double again, just for fun, but this was not the time for fun.
The water was icy cold when the brown stallion entered the stream, breaking through the crust of ice near the edge. Though the river was swift, and soon deep enough to wet their legs to midway up their thighs, the horse did not lose his footing; it was not so deep that he had to swim. Racer's two riders tried to curl their legs out of the water at first, but soon felt numbed to the cold river. About halfway across, Ayla turned around to look for Wolf. He was still on the bank, pacing back and forth, avoiding the initial plunge, as he often did. Ayla whistled to encourage him on, and she saw him finally jump in.
They reached the opposite shore without incident, except for feeling cold. The chill wind blowing on their wet legs when they dismounted didn't help. After pushing most of the water off with their hands, they hurried to put on their pants and moccasin-boots, with liners of downy chamois wool felted together – a departing gift from the Sharamudoi, for which they were more than grateful at that moment. Their legs and feet tingled with the returning warmth. When Wolf reached the shore, he climbed on the bank and shook himself. Ayla checked him over to satisfy herself that he was none the worse for the cold swim.
They located the trail easily and remounted the young stallion. Wolf again tried to keep up, but he soon lagged behind. Ayla worriedly watched him falling farther and farther back. That he had found them the night before eased her fears a little, and she consoled herself with the knowledge that he had often run off hunting or exploring on his own and had always caught up with them again. She hated to leave him behind, but they had to find Whinney.
It was midafternoon before they finally caught sight of horses in the distance. As they drew nearer, Ayla strained to find her friend amidst the others. She thought she caught a glimpse of a familiar hay-colored coat, but she couldn't be sure. There were too many other horses with coats that were similar, and when the wind carried their scent to the herd, they raced away.
"Those horses have been hunted before," Jondalar remarked. But he was glad that he caught himself in time before he voiced his next thought out loud: There must be people in this region who like horse-meat. He didn't want to upset Ayla even more. The herd soon outdistanced a young stallion that was carrying two passengers, but they continued to follow the trail. It was all they could do for now.
The herd turned south, for some reason only they knew, heading back toward the Great Mother River. Before long, the ground began to slope up. The land became rugged and rocky, and the grass more sparse. They continued until they came to a broad field high above the rest of the landscape. When they caught sight of water sparkling below, they realized they were on a plateau on top of the prominence they had skirted around the base of a few days before. The river they had crossed hugged its western face before joining the Mother.
As the herd started to graze, they moved in closer.
"There she is, Jondalar!" Ayla said with excitement, pointing to a particular animal.
"How can you be sure? Several of those horses have a similar color."
Though her coloration was similar to others, the woman knew the particular conformation of her friend too well to doubt it. She whistled and Whinney looked up. "I told you. It is her!"
She whistled again, and Whinney started toward her. But the lead mare, a large, graceful animal with a darker than usual, grayish-gold coat, saw the newest addition to the herd moving away from the fold and moved in to head her off. The herd stallion joined in to help. He was a big, stunning, cream-colored horse with a high-standing silver mane, a gray stripe down his back, and a flowing silvery tail that looked almost white when he swished it. His lower legs were silver-gray, too. He nipped at Whinney's hocks and herded her toward the rest of the females, who were watching with nervous interest; then he cantered back to challenge the younger stallion. He pawed the ground, then reared and neighed, daring Racer to fight.
The young brown stallion backed away, intimidated, and could not be coaxed to move in closer, much to the frustration of his human companions. From a safe distance, he neighed to his dam, and they heard Whinney's familiar answering nicker. Ayla and Jondalar dismounted to discuss the situation.
"What are we going to do, Jondalar?" Ayla wailed. "They won't let her go. How are we going to get her?"
"Don't worry, we will," he said. "If necessary, we'll use the spear-throwers, but I don't think we'll have to."
His assurance calmed her, and she hadn't thought of the spear-throwers. She didn't want to kill any horses if she didn't have to, but she'd do anything to get Whinney back. "Do you have a plan?" she asked.
"I'm pretty sure this herd has been hunted before, so they have some fear of people. That gives us an advantage. The herd stallion probably thinks Racer was trying to challenge him. He and that big mare were trying to keep him from stealing one of their herd. So we have to keep Racer away," Jondalar began. "Whinney will come when you whistle for her. If I can distract the stallion, you can help her avoid the mare until you get close enough to get on her back. Then, if you shout at the big mare, or even poke her with your spear if she crowds in on Whinney, I think she'll keep her distance until you ride away."
Ayla smiled, feeling relieved. "It sounds easy enough. What will we do with Racer?"
"There was a rock a little ways back with a couple of bushes growing near it. I can tether him to one of them. It wouldn't hold if he really fought it, but he's used to being tied, and I think he'll stay there." Taking the young stallion's lead rope, Jondalar started back with long strides.
When they reached the rock, Jondalar said, "Here, take your spear-thrower and a spear or two." Then he slipped off the backpack. "I'm going to take this off and leave it for now. It limits my movement." He took his own thrower and spears out of the holder. "Once you get Whinney, you can get Racer and come back for me."
The highland angled in a northeast-to-southwest direction, with a gradual incline on the north that became somewhat steeper toward the east. At the southwestern end, it jutted up like a precipice. On the western side, facing the river they had crossed earlier, it fell off sharply enough, but toward the south and the Great Mother River there was a high precipice with a sheer drop. As Ayla and Jondalar walked back toward the horses, the day was clear, and the sun was high in the sky, though well past its zenith. They looked over the steep western edge, then shied back from it, afraid that a misstep or a stumble might carry them down.
When they got closer to the grazing herd, they stopped and tried to find Whinney. The herd – mares, foals, and yearlings – was grazing in the middle of a field of waist-high dry grass; the herd stallion was off to one side, somewhat away from the others. Ayla thought she saw her horse far back, toward the south. She whistled, the dun-yellow mare's head came up, and Whinney started toward them. With his spear-thrower in hand and a spear in place ready to go, Jondalar slowly edged toward the cream-colored stallion, attempting to get between him and the herd, while Ayla walked toward the mares, determined to reach Whinney.
While she was working her way toward the mare, some of the horses stopped grazing and looked up, but they weren't looking at her. She had a sudden feeling that something was not right. She turned around to look for Jondalar, and she saw a wisp of smoke, and then another. It was the smell of smoke she had noticed. The field of dry grass was ablaze in several places. Suddenly, through the haze of the smoke, she saw figures running toward the horses, shouting and brandishing torches! They were chasing the horses toward the edge of the field, toward the sharp drop-off, and Whinney was among them!
The horses were beginning to panic, but among the high-pitched sounds she thought she heard a familiar neigh coming from another direction. Looking north, she spied Racer with his lead rope dragging behind, running toward the herd. Why did he have to break loose now? And where was Jondalar? The air was filled with more than smoke. She could feel the tension and smell the contagious fear of the horses as they started moving away from the fire.
Horses were jostling around her, and she couldn't see Whinney any more, but Racer was coming toward her, running fast, caught up in the panic. She whistled loud and long, then made a dash for him. He slowed and turned in her direction, but his ears were laid flat back and his eyes were rolling with fear. She reached him and grabbed for the rope dangling from his halter, yanking his head around. He screamed and reared as horses dodged around him. The rope burned as he yanked it through Ayla's hands, but she held on, and when his forefeet touched the ground, she grabbed his mane and leaped up on his back.
Racer reared again. Ayla was nearly thrown, but she held on. The horse was still full of fear, but he was used to a weight on his back. There was a comfort in it, and in the familiar woman. He settled down to a run, but it was difficult for her to control the horse Jondalar had trained. Though she had ridden Racer a few times and knew the signals that had been developed for the horse, she was not accustomed to guiding with reins or a rope. The man had used both with equal ease, and the stallion knew the confidence of his usual rider. He did not respond well to Ayla's first tentative attempts, but she was looking for Whinney while trying to settle him down, and she was distracted by her anxious need to find her friend.
Horses were running, crowding together all around her, neighing, whinnying, screaming, and their fear was strong in her nostrils. She whistled again, loud and piercing, but she wasn't sure if she could be heard above the din, and she knew the urge to run was powerful.
Suddenly, in the haze of dust and smoke, Ayla saw a horse slow, try to turn away and resist the urgings of the panicked horses racing past her, communicating their fear of the fire. Though her coat was the color of the choking air, Ayla knew it was Whinney. She whistled again to encourage her, and she saw her beloved mare stop, undecided. The instinct to run with the herd was strong in her, but that whistle had always meant safety, security, love, and she was not as frightened of the fire. She had been raised with the smell of smoke nearby. It had only signaled the proximity of people.
Ayla saw Whinney standing her ground while other horses brushed close or bumped her while trying to avoid her. The woman urged Racer forward. The mare started to turn back toward the woman, but a light-colored horse suddenly appeared, seemingly out of the dust. The big herd stallion tried to head her off, screaming a warning challenge at Racer, even in his panic, trying to keep his new mare away from the younger male. This time Racer screamed a response, then pranced and pawed the ground and started for the bigger animal, forgetting in all the excitement that he was too young and inexperienced to fight a mature stallion.
Then, for some reason – a sudden change of mind or contagion of fear – the stallion wheeled and pounded away. Whinney started to follow, and Racer rushed to overtake her. As the herd raced closer and closer to the edge of the cliff and the sure death waiting below, the mare with a coat the color of sun-ripened hay and the young brown stallion she had foaled, with the woman on his back, were being carried along with them! With fierce determination, Ayla pulled Racer to a stop in front of his dam. He whinnied with fear, wanting to run in panic with the rest of the horses, but he was held in check by the woman and the commands he was trained to obey.
Then all the horses had passed her by. As Whinney and Racer stood shivering with fear, the last of the herd disappeared over the edge of the cliff. Ayla shuddered at the distant sound of neighing, screaming, whinnying horses, and then she was stunned by the silence. Whinney and Racer and she, herself, could have been with them. She breathed deeply at the close call, then looked around for Jondalar.
She didn't see him. The fire was moving south but east; the wind was blowing away from the southwestern edge of the field – but the flames had served their purpose. She looked in all directions, but Jondalar was nowhere in sight. Ayla and the two horses were alone on the smoking field. She felt a lump of fear and anxiety rise in her throat. What happened to Jondalar?
She slid off Racer and, still holding his lead rope, leaped easily onto Whinney's back, then headed back to the place where they had separated. She scanned the area carefully, walking back and forth, looking for tracks, but the ground was covered with hoofprints. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spied something and ran to see what it was. With her heart pounding in her throat, she picked up Jondalar's spear-thrower!
Looking more closely, she saw footprints, obviously many people, but distinctive among them were the imprints of Jondalar's large feet encased in his well-worn boots. She had seen those prints too many times at their campsites to be mistaken. Then she saw a dark spot on the ground. She reached down to touch it and pulled back a fingertip red with blood.
Her eyes opened wide, and fear caught in her throat. Standing where she was, so as not to disturb the signs, she carefully looked around, trying to piece together some sense of what had happened. She was an experienced tracker, and to her trained eye, it soon became clear that someone had hurt Jondalar and dragged him away. She followed the tracks north for a while. Then she took note of her surroundings, so she could pick up the trail again, mounted Whinney, with Racer's lead firmly in hand, and turned west to retrieve the backpack.
As she rode toward the west, she was scowling, and the hard angry frown expressed exactly how she felt, but she had to think things out and decide what to do. Someone had hurt Jondalar and taken him away, and no one had the right to do that. Perhaps she didn't understand all the ways of the Others, but that was one thing she knew. She knew something else, too. She didn't know how yet, but she was going to get him back.
She was relieved when she saw the backpack still leaning against the rock, just as they'd left it. She dumped everything out of it and made a few adjustments so Racer could carry it on his back, then began to repack. She had left off her carrying belt that morning – it had felt rather clumsy – and stuffed everything into the backpack. She lifted the belt and examined the sharp ceremonial dagger that was still in the loop, accidentally pricking herself with the point. She stared at the tiny drop of blood beading up, and for some strange reason she felt like crying. She was alone again. Someone had taken Jondalar away.
Suddenly she put the belt on again and stuffed her dagger, knife, hatchet, and hunting weapons back into it. He wasn't going to be gone for long! She packed the tent on Racer's back, but she kept the sleeping roll with her. Who could tell what kind of weather she might run into? She kept a waterbag, too. Then she took out a cake of traveling food and sat down on the rock. It wasn't so much that she was hungry, but she knew she had to keep her strength up if she was going to follow the trail and find Jondalar.
The other nagging worry that had been bothering her besides the missing man, was the missing wolf. She couldn't leave to find Jondalar until she found Wolf. He was more than just an animal companion that she loved, he could be essential in following the trail. She hoped he would appear before nightfall, and she wondered if she could backtrack over their trail until she found him. But what if he was hunting? She might miss him. As impatient as it made her feel, she decided it was best to wait.
She tried to think about what she could do, but she couldn't even think of possible courses of action. The very act of hurting someone and taking him away was so alien to her that it was hard to think beyond it. It seemed such an unreasonable, illogical thing to do.
Intruding on her thoughts she heard a whine and then a yip. She turned to see Wolf running toward her, obviously happy to see her. She was greatly relieved.
"Wolf!" she cried with joy. "You made it, and much earlier than yesterday. Are you better?" After greeting him affectionately, she examined him and was glad when she confirmed again that although he was definitely bruised, nothing was broken, and he seemed much improved.
She decided to leave immediately, so she could pick up the trail while it was still light. She tied Racer's lead to a strap that held Whinney's riding blanket on, then mounted the mare. Calling Wolf to follow her, she started back toward the trail, then rode all the way to the place where she had found his footprints along with the others, his spear-thrower, and the spot of blood, now a slightly brownish stain on the ground. She dismounted to examine the place again.
"We have to find Jondalar, Wolf," she said. The animal looked at her quizzically.
She lowered herself and, sitting comfortably on her haunches, looked more closely at the footprints, making an effort to identify individuals so she could estimate how many there were, and to commit the size and shapes of them to memory. The wolf waited, sitting on his haunches and staring at her, sensing something unusual and important. Finally she pointed to the bloodstain.
"Someone hurt Jondalar and carried him away. We need to find him." The wolf sniffed the blood, then wagged his tail and yipped. "That's Jondalar's footprint," she said, pointing to the distinctive large impression among the smaller ones. Wolf again sniffed where she pointed, then looked at her, as if waiting for her next move. "They took him away," she said, indicating the other imprints of human feet.
Suddenly she stood up and walked over to Racer. She took Jondalar's spear-thrower out of the pack on Racer's back and knelt to let the wolf sniff it. "We have to find Jondalar, Wolf! Someone took him away, and we're going to get him back!"