The Mammoth Hunters

26

Jondalar positioned himself so that he could see most of the Mammoth Hearth by looking down the passageway and through the open areas of the hearths that separated them. He had made such a habit of watching Ayla he hardly thought about it any more. It didn't even embarrass him; it was a part of his existence. No matter what he was doing, she was always on his mind, often just at the edge of awareness. He knew when she slept and when she was awake, when she ate and when she worked on some project. He knew when she went out and knew who came to see her, and how long they stayed. He even had some idea what they talked about.

He knew Ranec had been spending most of his time there. Though he didn't like seeing them together, he also knew that Ayla had not been intimate with him, and seemed to avoid any close contact. Her actions had lulled him into a certain acceptance of the situation, and eased his anxieties, so he was unprepared for the sight of her walking with Ranec to the Fox Hearth as everyone was getting ready for bed. He couldn't believe it at first. He assumed she was just going to get something and would return to her own bed. The realization that she was planning to spend the night with the carver did not come to him until he saw her command Wolf to go to the Mammoth Hearth.

But when it did, it was like a fire exploding in his head, that spread its burning pain and rage through his body. He was devastated. His first impulse was to rush to the Fox Hearth and tear her away. He had visions of Ranec mocking him, and he wanted to smash that dark smiling face, demolish that scornful, derisive smile. He fought to control himself, and finally grabbed his parka and rushed outside.

Jondalar breathed in huge gulps of cold air, trying to cool his flaming jealousy, and almost seared his lungs with the cold. An early spring cold snap that dipped below freezing had hardened slush, turned rivulets into treacherous slides, and trampled mud into uneven bumps and dips, making it difficult to walk. He lost his footing in the dark and scrambled to keep his balance. When he reached the horse annex, he went back in.

Whinney blew a greeting and Racer snorted and nudged him in the dark, looking for affection. He had spent a lot of time with the horses over the difficult winter, and even more during the uncertain spring. They welcomed his company and he relaxed in their warm, unquestioning presence. A movement of the inner drape caught his eye. Then he felt paws on his leg, and heard a pleading whine. He reached down and picked up the wolf pup.

"Wolf!" he said, smiling, but pulling back as the eager animal licked his face. "What are you doing here?" Then he lost his smile. "She made you leave, didn't she? You're used to her being there near you, and you miss her. I know how you feel. It's hard getting used to sleeping alone after she has slept beside you."

As he petted and stroked the little wolf, Jondalar felt an easing of tension, and he was reluctant to put him down. "What should I do with you, Wolf? I hate to make you go back. I suppose I could let you sleep with me."

Then he frowned, realizing he was faced with a dilemma. How was he going to get back to his bed with the pup? It was cold out, and he wasn't sure if the little animal would want to go outside with him, but if he went in through the Mammoth Hearth opening, he would have to walk through the Fox Hearth to reach his bed. Nothing in the world could have induced him to walk through the Fox Hearth at that moment. Jondalar wished he had his sleeping furs with him. With no fire it was cool in the annex, but sleeping in furs between the horses would have been warm enough. He had no choice. He would have to take the puppy out with him and back in through the front entrance.

He patted the horses, then, cuddling the puppy close to his chest, pushed back the drape and stepped out into the cold night. The wind, more noticeable this time, stung his face with an icy slap, and parted the fur of his parka. Wolf tried to squirm closer and whimpered, but made no move to get away. Jondalar moved carefully over the rough frozen ground and was relieved to reach the front arch.

The lodge was quiet when he stepped into the cooking hearth. He walked to his sleeping furs, and put Wolf down, glad that he seemed content to stay. Quickly, he pulled off his parka and footwear, then crawled into the furs taking the small wolf with him. He had found it was not as warm on the floor in the open area of the hearth as it was on the enclosed sleeping platforms, and he slept in his indoor clothes, which left them rumpled. It took a few moments to find a comfortable position and settle down, but before long the warm bundle of fur curled up next to him was asleep.

Jondalar was not so fortunate. As soon as he closed his eyes, he heard the night sounds and stiffened in resistance. Normally the breathing, shuffling, coughing, whispering sounds of the Camp at night were background noise, easily ignored, but Jondalar's ears heard what he did not want to hear.

Ranec eased Ayla back on his furs, then looked down at her. "You are so beautiful, Ayla, so perfect. I want you so much, I want you to be with me always. Oh, Ayla…" he said, then bent down to breathe into her ear, and breathe in her woman-scent. She felt his full soft mouth on hers, and felt herself respond. After a while, he put his hand on her stomach, then began slowly to move it in a circular motion, exerting gentle pressure.

Soon he reached up and cupped a breast, and then he lowered his head and took a hardened nipple in his mouth and sucked. She moaned as the tingling reached inside and moved her hips toward him. He pushed himself against her, and she felt a warm hardness next to her thigh, as he reached to take her other nipple in his mouth, and suckled hard, making little pleasure noises.

He ran his hand down her side and hip, then across her leg and up the inside of her thigh, found her moist folds and reached inside her. She felt him search her depths and pushed up against him. He eased himself around until he was pressed against her, while he suckled one breast, and then the other, and then nuzzled between them.

"Oh, Ayla. My beautiful woman, my perfect woman. How have you made me ready so soon? It is the Mother's way, Her secrets you command. My perfect woman."

He was suckling again, she could feel the pressure as he pulled, and it sent shivers through her. Inside her, she felt a moving in and out, then his hand found her place of Pleasure. She cried out as he rubbed it, rhythmically, harder and faster. Suddenly, she was ready. She pushed against him moving her hips, crying out, and reaching for him.

He moved between her legs as she lifted them, helped guide him, then uttered a sigh of Pleasure as she felt him enter. His body moved back and forth, feeling the sensation building as he cried her name.

"Oh, Ayla, Ayla, I want you so much. Be my woman, Ayla. Be my woman," Ranec said, as a great surge built. Her cries came in little rhythmic pants. He moved faster and faster until the warm wave of indescribable sensation broke free and washed over them.

Ayla breathed hard, catching her breath, as Ranec sprawled out on top of her. It had been a long time since she had shared Pleasures. The last time had been the night of her adoption, and she realized now that she had missed it. Ranec had been so delighted to have her and so eager to please, he almost tried too hard, but she had been more ready than she thought she would be, and though everything happened quickly, she did not feel unsatisfied.

"It was perfect for me," Ranec whispered. "Are you happy, Ayla?"

"Yes, Pleasures with you feel good, Ranec," she said. She heard him sigh.

They both lay still, enjoying the aftermath, but Ayla's thoughts went back to his question. Was she happy? She wasn't unhappy. Ranec was a good and considerate man, and she had felt Pleasure, but… something was missing. It was not the same as it had been with Jondalar, but she didn't know what the difference was.

Maybe it was just that she wasn't quite used to Ranec yet, she thought, as she tried to shift to a more comfortable position. He was beginning to feel a bit heavy. Ranec, feeling her movement, pulled up, smiled at her, then rolled over and lay beside her on his side, nestling close to her.

He nuzzled her neck, then whispered in her ear. "I love you, Ayla. I want you so much. Say you will be my woman."

Ayla didn't answer. She couldn't answer yes, and she wouldn't answer no.

Jondalar gritted his teeth and clutched at his sleeping fur, wadding it up in his fist as he listened, against his will, to the murmuring, hard breathing, and heavy rhythmic movement from the Hearth of the Fox. He pulled the covers over his head, but could not block out the muffled sound of Ayla's voice crying out. He bit on a piece of leather to keep from making any sounds, but high in the back of his throat, his own voice cried out in pain and utter despair. Wolf, hearing, whimpered, scooted close to him, and licked the salty tears that the man tried to squeeze back.

He couldn't stand it. Jondalar could not bear the thought of Ayla with Ranec. But it was her choice, and his. What if she went back to the carver's bed again? He couldn't bear hearing that again. But what could he do? Leave. He could leave. He had to leave. Tomorrow. In the morning, at first light, he would leave.

Jondalar didn't sleep. He lay stiff with tension inside his furs when he realized they had only been resting, they were not through. Finally, when only the sounds of sleep could be heard in the lodge, he still didn't sleep. He heard Ayla and Ranec over and over again in his mind, and envisioned them together.

With the first hint of light outlining the covered smoke hole, before anyone was stirring, he was up stuffing his sleeping furs into a haversack. Then putting on his parka and footwear, and taking his spears and the spear-thrower, he quietly walked to the first archway and pushed back the drape. Wolf started to follow him, but Jondalar told him to "stay" in a hoarse whisper, and let the drape fall behind him.

Once outside, he pulled the hood up against the sharp wind and tied it tight around his face, leaving little more than an opening to see. He pulled on the mittens that dangled from his sleeves by cords, shifted the haversack, and started out walking up the slope. The ice crunched under his feet, and he stumbled in the dim light of the early gray morning, blinded by hot tears, now that he was alone.

The wind blew hard and cold when he reached the top, buffeting him with crosscurrents. He paused, trying to decide which way to go, then turned south, following the river. It was difficult walking. The freeze had been enough to form a crust of ice over some of the melting drifts, and he sunk through up to his knees, and had to pull his feet out with every step. Where there were no snowdrifts, the ground was hard and rough, and often slick. He slipped and slid, and fell once, bruising his hip.

As the morning progressed, no glowing sun penetrated the heavy overcast sky. The only evidence of its appearance was the diffused but growing light of the shadowless gray day. He plodded along, his thoughts turned inward, hardly paying attention to where he was going.

Why couldn't he bear the thought of Ayla and Ranec together? Why was it so hard for him to let her make her own choice? Did he want her just to himself? Did other men ever feel this way? Feel this pain? Was it that another man touched her? Was it fear that he was losing her?

Or was it more than that? Did he feel he deserved to lose her? She spoke easily about her life with the Clan, and he was as accepting as anyone else, until he thought about what his own people might think. Would she feel as free to talk about her childhood with the Zelandonii? She fit in so well with the Lion Camp. They accepted her without reservation, but would they if they knew about her son? He hated to think that way. If he felt so ashamed of her, maybe he ought to give her up, but he couldn't bear the thought of losing her.

His thirst finally penetrated the murky niches of his introspection. He stopped and reached for his waterbag, then discovered he had forgotten to take it. At the next snowdrift, he broke through the crust of ice and put a handful of snow in his mouth, holding it there until it melted. It was second nature, he didn't even have to think about it. He had been trained from childhood not to eat snow for thirst without melting it first, preferably before it was put in the mouth. Swallowing snow chilled the body, and even melting it in the mouth was a last resort.

The missing waterbag made him consider his situation for a moment. He had forgotten food, too, he realized, but it slipped out of his mind again. He was too caught up in remembering, over and over again, the sounds from the lodge, and the scenes and thoughts they created in his mind.

He came across an expanse of white, and hardly paused before plodding ahead into the drift. If he had observed his surroundings, he might have seen that it was more than a snowdrift, but he wasn't thinking. After the first few steps he broke through the crust, not into a drift of snow, but knee-deep into a pool of standing meltwater. His leather footwear, coated with fat, was waterproof enough to withstand a certain amount of snow, even wet, melting snow, but not water. The shock of cold finally snapped him out of his self-absorbed preoccupation. He waded out, breaking through more ice, and felt the added chill brought by the wind.

What a stupid thing to do, he thought. I don't even have a change of clothes with me. Or food. Or a waterbag. I have to go back. I'm not prepared for traveling at all, what can I have been thinking of? You know what you were thinking of, Jondalar, he said to himself, closing his eyes as the pain clutched him.

He was feeling the cold in his feet and lower legs, and the uncomfortable sloppy wetness. He wondered if he should try to dry out before he started back, then he realized he didn't have a firestone with him, or even a fire drill and tinder, and his footwear had liners of felted mammoth wool. Even wet, they would keep his feet from freezing, if he kept moving. He started back, berating himself for his stupidity, yet dreading every step.

As he retraced his footsteps, he found himself thinking of his brother. He recalled the time Thonolan had been caught in quicksand at the mouth of the Great Mother River, and wanted to stay there and die. For the first time, Jondalar fully understood why Thonolan had lost his will to live after Jetamio died. His brother had chosen to stay with the people of the woman he loved, he remembered. But Jetamio had been born to the river people, he thought. Ayla was as much a stranger as he was to the Mamutoi. No, he corrected himself, that's not true. Ayla is a Mamutoi, now.

When he neared the lodge, Jondalar saw a large bulky figure coming toward him.

"Nezzie was worried about you and sent me to look for you. Where have you been?" Talut said as he fell in behind Jondalar.

"I went for a walk."

The big headman nodded. That Ayla had shared Pleasures with Ranec was no secret, but neither was Jondalar's anguish as private as he thought.

"Your feet are wet."

"I broke through the ice of a pool, thinking it was a snowdrift."

As they headed down the slope toward the Lion Camp, Talut said, "You should change your boots right away, Jondalar. I have an extra pair I will give you."

"Thank you," the younger man said, suddenly aware that he was very much an outsider. He had nothing of his own, and was entirely dependent on the good will of the Lion Camp, even for the necessary clothes and supplies to travel. He didn't like asking for more, but he had no choice if he was going to leave, and once he was gone, he would no longer be eating their food and making other demands on their resources.

"There you are," Nezzie said, as he walked in the earthlodge. "Jondalar! You're cold and wet! Take off those boots and let me get you something hot to drink."

Nezzie brought him a hot drink, and Talut gave him a pair of old boots and a dry pair of trousers. "You can keep these," he said.

"I'm grateful, Talut, for everything you've done for me, but I need to ask a favor. I have to leave. I must return to my home. I've been gone too long. It's time I started back, but I need some traveling gear, and some food. Once it warms up, it will be easier to find food along the way, but I need some to start out with."

"I'd be glad to give you what you need. Though my clothes are a little big on you, you can wear them," the big headman said, then grinning and smoothing his bushy red beard, he added, "but I have a better idea. Why not ask Tulie to outfit you?"

"Why Tulie?" Jondalar asked, puzzled.

"Her first man was about your size, and I'm sure she still has many of his clothes. They were of the finest quality, Tulie made sure of that."

"But why should she give them to me?"

"You still haven't collected on your future claim, and she's in debt to you. If you tell her you want it in a traveling outfit and supplies, she would make sure you have the best there is, to relieve her obligation," Talut said.

"That's right," Jondalar said with a smile. He'd forgotten the wager he'd won. It made him feel better to know he wasn't entirely without resources. "I will ask her."

"But you are not planning to leave, are you?"

"Yes, I am. As soon as I can," Jondalar said.

The headman sat down for some serious discussion. "It is not wise to travel yet. Everything is melting. Look what happened just going for a walk," Talut said, "and I was looking forward to you coming with us to the Summer Meeting and hunting mammoth with us."

"I don't know," Jondalar said. He noticed Mamut near one of the firepits, eating, and was reminded of Ayla. He didn't think he could stand it another day. How could he possibly stay until the Summer Meeting?

"Early summer is a better time to start a long trek. It's safer. You should wait, Jondalar."

"I'll think about it," Jondalar said, though he had no intention of staying any longer than he absolutely had to.

"Good, do that," Talut said, getting up. "Nezzie told me to make sure you had some of her hot soup for breakfast. She put the last of the good roots in it."

Jondalar finished tying Talut's footwear, then got up and walked to the firepit where Mamut was finishing a bowl of soup. He greeted the old man, then reached for one of the bowls stacked nearby, and ladled some out for himself. He sat beside the shaman, pulled out his eating knife, and stabbed a piece of meat.

Mamut wiped out his bowl and put it down, then turned to Jondalar. "I could not help but overhear that you are planning to leave soon."

"Yes, tomorrow or the next day. As soon as I can get ready," Jondalar said.

"That's too soon!" Mamut said.

"I know. Talut said it was a bad time of year to travel, but I've traveled in bad seasons before."

"That's not what I mean. You must stay until the Spring Festival," he said, with absolute seriousness.

"I know it's a big occasion, everyone is talking about it, but I really need to go."

"You cannot go. It is not safe."

"Why? What difference will a few more days make? There will still be melting and flooding." The young visitor couldn't understand the old man's insistence that he stay for a festival that had no particular meaning for him.

"Jondalar, I have no doubt that you can travel in any weather. I wasn't thinking of you. I was thinking of Ayla."

"Ayla?" Jondalar said with a frown, as his stomach tightened into a knot. "I don't understand."

"I have been training Ayla in some practices of the Mammoth Hearth, and planning a special ceremony for this Spring Festival with her. We will be using a root she brought with her from the Clan. She used it once… with the guidance of her Mog-ur. I have experience with several magic plants that can lead one to the spirit world, but I have never used this root, and Ayla has never used it alone. We will both be trying something new. She seems to have… some concerns, and… certain changes might be upsetting. If you leave, it could have an unforeseeable effect on Ayla."

"Are you saying there is some danger to Ayla in this root ceremony?" Jondalar asked, his eyes full of distress.

"There is always some element of danger in dealing with the spirit world," the shaman explained, "but she has traveled there alone, and if it happens again, without guidance or training, she could lose her way. That is why I am training her, but Ayla will need the help of those who have feelings for her, love for her. It is essential that you be here."

"Why me?" Jondalar said. "We are… not together any more. There are others here who have feelings… who love Ayla. Others she has feelings for."

The old man stood up. "I cannot explain it to you, Jondalar. It is a sense, an intuition. I can only say that when I heard you speak of leaving, a terrible, dark foreboding came over me. I'm not sure what it means, but I would… prefer… no, I will put it more strongly than that. Don't leave, Jondalar. If you love her, promise me you won't leave until after the Spring Festival," Mamut said.

Jondalar stood up and looked at the ancient, inscrutable face of the old shaman. It was not like him to make such a request without reason, but why was it so important for him to be here? What did Mamut know that he didn't? Whatever it was, the Mamut's qualms filled him with apprehension. He could not leave if Ayla was in danger. "I will stay," he said. "I promise I will not leave until after the Spring Festival."

It was a few days before Ayla returned to Ranec's bed, though not because he hadn't been encouraging her. It was difficult for her to refuse him the first time he asked her outright. Her childhood training had been so strong she felt that she had done something terribly wrong when she said no, and almost expected Ranec to be angry. But he took it with understanding, and said he knew she needed some time to think.

Ayla had learned of Jondalar's long walk the morning after her night with the dark carver, and she suspected it had something to do with her. Was it his way of showing that he still cared for her? But Jondalar was, if anything, even more distant. He avoided her whenever possible, and spoke only when it was necessary. She decided she must be wrong. He didn't love her. She was desolate when she finally began to accept it, but tried not to show it.

Ranec, on the other hand, made it abundantly clear that he loved her. He continued to press her for both her presence in his furs, and to join him at his hearth in a formally recognized union; to be his woman. She finally consented to share his furs again, largely because of his understanding, but held back her commitment to a more permanent relationship. She spent several nights with him, but then decided to refrain again for a time, this time finding it easier to refuse. She felt everything was moving too fast. He wanted to make the announcement of their Promise at the Spring Festival, which was only a few days away. She wanted time to think about it. She enjoyed Pleasures with Ranec; he was loving and knew how to please, and she cared for him. She liked him very much, in fact, but something was missing. She felt it as a vague sort of incompleteness. Though she wanted to, and wished she could, she did not love him.

Jondalar did not sleep when Ayla was with Ranec, and the strain was beginning to show. Nezzie thought he had lost more weight, but in Talut's old clothes, which hung on him, and an unkempt winter beard, it was hard to tell. Even Danug noticed that he seemed gaunt and worn, and he thought he knew the cause. He wished there was something he could do to help; he cared deeply for both Jondalar and Ayla, but no one could help. Not even Wolf, though the puppy brought more comfort than he knew. Whenever Ayla was absent from the hearth, the young wolf sought out Jondalar. It made the man feel he was not alone in his grief and rejection. He found himself spending more time with the horses as well, he even slept with them sometimes to get away from the painful scenes in the lodge, but he made a point of staying away when Ayla was around.

The weather turned warm the next few days, and it became more difficult for Jondalar to avoid her. In spite of the slush and high water, she rode the horses more often and though he tried to slip away when he saw her coming into the annex, several times he found himself stammering excuses and leaving quickly after accidentally meeting her. Frequently she took Wolf, and occasionally Rydag, riding with her, but when she wanted to be free of responsibilities, she left the puppy behind in the boy's care, to his delight. Whinney and Racer were entirely familiar and comfortable with the young wolf, and Wolf seemed to enjoy the association of the horses whether he was on Whinney's back with Ayla, or running alongside trying to keep up. It was good exercise and a welcome excuse for her to get away from the earthlodge, which felt small and confining after the long winter, but she couldn't escape from the turmoil of strong feelings that whirled around and within her.

She had begun encouraging and directing Racer by voice, whistle, and signal while riding Whinney, but whenever she thought she should start getting him used to carrying a rider, it made her think of Jondalar and she held off. It wasn't so much a conscious decision as a delaying tactic, and a wild wish that everything would somehow work out as she had once hoped, and that Jondalar would train him and ride him.

Jondalar was thinking much the same thing. On one of their chance meetings, Ayla had encouraged him to take Whinney out for a ride, insisting that she was too busy, and that the horse needed the exercise after the long winter. He'd forgotten what sheer excitement it was to race into the wind on the back of a horse. And when he saw Racer pounding along beside him, and then pulling ahead of his dam, he dreamed of being on the young stallion's back riding beside Ayla and Whinney. Though he could generally direct the mare, he felt she was simply tolerating him, and always felt uneasy about it. Whinney was Ayla's horse, and though he eyed the brown stallion and felt a real affection for him, in his mind, Racer was Ayla's, too.

As the weather warmed, Jondalar thought more about leaving. He decided to take Talut's advice and ask for his future claim from Tulie in the form of much-needed clothing and traveling equipment. As the headman had suggested, Tulie was delighted to relieve her obligation so easily.

Jondalar was tying a belt around his new deep brown tunic when Talut strode into the cooking hearth. The Spring Festival would be the day after next. Everyone was trying on finery in preparation for the big day and relaxing after sweatbaths and a dunk in the cold river. For the first time since he left home, Jondalar had a surplus of well-made, beautifully decorated clothing as well as backpacks, tents, and other traveling gear. He had always enjoyed good quality, and his appreciation was not lost on Tulie. She had suspected all along, and now was convinced, that whoever the Zelandonii were, Jondalar came from people of high status.

"It looks like it was made for you, Jondalar," Talut said. "The beadwork across the shoulders falls just right…"

"Yes, the clothes do fit well, and Tulie was more than generous. Thanks for the suggestion."

"I'm glad you decided not to leave right away. You'll enjoy the Summer Meeting."

"Well… ah… I'm not… Mamut…" Jondalar struggled for words to explain why he had not gone when he first planned to.

"…and I'll make sure you are invited on the first hunt," Talut continued, assuming that Jondalar had stayed because of his counsel and invitation.

"Jondalar?" Deegie said, a little shocked. "From the back I thought you were Darnev!" She walked around him, with a smile on her face, looking him over. She liked what she saw. "You shaved," she said.

"It's spring. I decided it was time," he said, smiling back, his eyes telling her that she was attractive, too.

She was caught by his blue eyes, and his compelling attraction, then laughed, and decided it was time he was cleaned up and in decent clothes. He'd been looking so scruffy in his straggly, untrimmed beard and Talut's hand-me-downs, she'd forgotten how handsome he was.

"You wear that outfit well, Jondalar. It suits you. Wait until you get to the Summer Meeting. A stranger always gets a lot of attention, and I think the Mamutoi women will want to make you feel very welcome," Deegie said, with a teasing smile.

"But…" Jondalar gave up trying to explain that he wasn't planning to go to the Summer Meeting with them. He could tell them later, when he left.

He tried on another outfit after they left, one more suited to traveling or everyday wear, then went outside looking for the headwoman to thank her again, and show her how well the clothes fit. In the entrance foyer, he met Danug, Rydag, and Wolf just coming in. The youth was holding Rydag with one arm and Wolf with the other. They had a fur wrapped around them and their hair was still damp. Danug had carried the boy up from the river after their sweatbath. He put them both down.

"Jondalar, you look good," Rydag signaled. "All ready for Spring Festival?"

"Yes. Are you?" he signed back.

"I have new clothes, too. Nezzie make for me, for Spring Festival," Rydag replied, smiling.

"For the Summer Meeting, too," Danug added. "She made new clothes for me, and for Latie and Rugie."

Jondalar noticed that Rydag's smile faded when Danug talked about the Summer Meeting. He didn't seem to look forward to the big summer gathering as much as the others.

When Jondalar pushed back the heavy drape and started out, Danug, not wanting the words to be heard, whispered to Rydag, "Should we have told him that Ayla is right outside? Every time he sees her, he runs away from her."

"No. He want see her. She want see him. Make right signals, wrong words," Rydag signed.

"You're right, but why can't they see it? How can they make each other understand?"

"Forget words. Make signals," Rydag replied, with his un-Clanlike smile, then picked up the wolf puppy and carried him into the lodge.

Jondalar discovered what the youngsters didn't tell him the moment he stepped out. Ayla was outside the front entrance with the two horses. She had just given Wolf to Rydag to take care of, and she was looking forward to a long, hard ride to work off the tension she was, feeling. Ranec wanted her agreement before the Spring Festival, and she couldn't make up her mind. She hoped the ride would help her think. When she saw Jondalar, her first reaction was to offer to let him ride Whinney, as she had done before, knowing that he loved it, and hoping that his love of the horses would bring him closer to her. But she wanted to ride. She had been, anticipating it, and was just ready to leave.

When she looked at him again, she caught her breath. He had scraped off his beard with one of his sharp flint blades, and he looked so much the way he did when they were in her valley the previous summer it made her heart pound and her face flush. He reacted to her physical signals with unconscious signals of his own, and the magnetic pull of his eyes drew her.

"You have removed your beard," Ayla said.

Without realizing it, she had spoken in Zelandonii. It took him a moment before he realized what was different, then, he couldn't help but smile. He hadn't heard his own language in a long time. The smile encouraged her, and a thought came to her.

"I was just going out to ride on Whinney, and I have been thinking that someone needs to start getting Racer used to a rider. Why don't you come with me and try to ride him? It's a good day for it. The snow is almost gone, new grass is coming in, but the ground is not so hard yet, in case someone falls off," she said, rushing ahead before something happened that would make him change and become distant again.

"Uh… I don't know," Jondalar hesitated. "I thought you would want to ride him first."

"He's used to you, Jondalar, and no matter who rides him first, it would help to have two people. One to calm and settle him while the other gets on."

"I suppose you're right," he said, frowning. He didn't know if he should go out on the steppes with her, but he didn't know how to refuse, and he did want to ride the horse. "If you really want me to, I guess I could."

"I'll go and get a lead rope, and the guider you made for him," Ayla said, racing to the annex before he could change his mind. "Why don't you start walking them up the slope?"

He began to have second thoughts, but she was gone before he could reconsider. He called the horses to him and started up to the broad flat plains above. Ayla caught up with them when they were near the top. She had a haversack and a waterbag as well as the halter and a rope. When they reached the steppes, Ayla led Whinney to a mound she had used before when she let some of the members of the Lion Camp, particularly the younger ones, ride the mare. With a practiced leap, she was on the back of the hay-colored horse.

"Get on, Jondalar. We can ride double."

"Ride double!?" he said, almost in a panic. He hadn't considered riding double with Ayla, and was ready to bolt.

"Just until we find a nice open stretch of flat ground. We can't try it here. Racer might run into a gully or down the slope," she said.

He felt caught. How could he say he wouldn't ride double with her for a short distance? He walked to the mound, and carefully sat astride the mare, trying to sit back and avoid touching Ayla. The moment he was on, she signaled Whinney into a fast trot.

There was no preventing it. Try as he might, on the jouncing horse, he could not keep from sliding next to her. He could feel the warmth of her body through their clothing, smell the light pleasant odor of the dried cleansing flowers she used for washing, mixed with her familiar feminine scent. With each step the horse took, he felt her legs, her hips, her back pressed against him, and felt his manhood rise in response. His head was whirling, and he fought with himself to keep from kissing her neck, reaching around to hold a full, firm breast.

Why did he agree to this? Why didn't he put her off? What difference did it make if he ever rode Racer? They would never ride together. He had heard people talking; Ayla and Ranec were going to announce their promise at the Spring Festival, and afterward, he would leave and start on his long Journey home.

Ayla signaled Whinney to stop. "What do you think, Jondalar? There's a good flat stretch ahead."

"Yes, it looks fine," he said quickly, and pulling his leg back around, jumped down.

Ayla lifted her leg over and slid off the other side. She was breathing fast, her face was flushed, her eyes glittering. She had breathed deeply of his man smell, melted into the warmth of his body, and shivered when she felt the hard, hot bump of his manhood. I could feel his need, she thought. Why was he in such a hurry to get away from me? Why doesn't he want me? Why doesn't he love me any more?

On opposite sides of the mare, they both tried to compose themselves. Ayla whistled for Racer, a whistle different from the one she used to call Whinney, and by the time she had patted him, and scratched him, and talked to him, she was ready to face Jondalar again.

"Do you want to put the guiding straps on his head?" she asked him, leading the young stallion toward a pile of large bones she noticed.

"I don't know. What would you do?" he said. He was also in control of himself again, and beginning to get excited about riding the young horse.

"I never did use anything to guide Whinney, except the way I moved, but Racer is used to being guided by the straps. I think I would use them," she said.

They both put the halter on Racer. Sensing something, he was friskier than usual, and they stroked and patted him to calm him down. They stacked up a couple of mammoth bones to give Jondalar something to stand on to mount the horse, then led the young horse beside them. At Ayla's suggestion, Jondalar rubbed his neck, and his back, and down his legs, and leaned across him, scratching him and stroking him, and getting him entirely familiar with the feel of the man.

"When you first get on him, hold him around the neck. He may rear to try to shake you off his back," Ayla said, trying to think of last-minute advice. "But he did get used to carrying the load on the way back from the valley, so he may not have much trouble getting used to you. Hold the lead rope, so it doesn't fall on the ground and trip him, but I would just let him run, wherever he wants to go, until he gets tired. I'll follow on Whinney. Are you ready?"

"I think so," he said, smiling nervously.

Jondalar stood on the big bones, leaned across the shaggy, sturdy animal, talking to him, while Ayla held his head. Then he eased a leg across his back, settled himself down, and clasped his arms around Racer's neck. When he felt the weight, the dark stallion laid his ears back. Ayla let go. He leaped up on his hind legs once, then he arched his back, trying to dislodge the load, but Jondalar held on. Then true to his name, the young horse broke out in a fast gallop and raced across the steppes.

Jondalar squinted into the cold wind, and felt a tremendous upsurge of sheer exhilaration. He watched the ground blur beneath him, and couldn't believe it. He was actually riding the young stallion, and it was every bit as exciting as he had imagined it would be. He closed his eyes and felt the tremendous power of the muscles bunching and straining beneath him, and a sense of magical wonder washed over him, as though for the first time in his life, he was sharing in the wonder and creation of the Great Earth Mother Herself.

He felt the young horse tiring, and, hearing other hoof-beats, opened his eyes to see Ayla and Whinney racing beside him. He smiled his wonder and delight at her, and the smile she returned made his heart pound faster. Everything else faded to insignificance for the moment. Jondalar's entire world was an unforgettable ride on the back of a racing stallion and the achingly beautiful smile on the face of the woman he loved.

Racer finally slowed, then drew to a halt. Jondalar jumped off. The young horse stood with his head hanging down almost to the ground, feet spread apart, sides heaving as he breathed hard. Whinney pulled up and Ayla jumped down. She took some pieces of soft leather out of the haversack, gave one to Jondalar, to rub down the sweaty animal, then she did the same for Whinney. The two exhausted horses crowded close together, leaning on each other for reassurance.

"Ayla, as long as I live, I'll never forget that ride," Jondalar said.

He hadn't been so relaxed for a long time, and she felt his excitement. They looked at each other, smiled, laughed, sharing the wonder of the moment. Without thinking, she reached up to kiss him, he started to respond, then suddenly, he remembered Ranec. He stiffened, withdrew her arms from around his neck.

"Don't play with me, Ayla," he said, his voice hoarse with control, as he pushed her away.

"Play with you?" she said, hurt filling her eyes.

Jondalar closed his eyes, clenched his teeth, shook with the strain of trying to maintain control. Then, suddenly, like an ice dam bursting, it was too much. He grabbed her, kissed her; a hard, mouth-bruising, desperate kiss. The next instant she was on the ground, his hands beneath her tunic, tearing at her drawstring.

She tried to help him, to untie it for him, but he couldn't wait. Impatiently, he grabbed at the waist of her soft leather leggings with both hands, and with the strength of denied passion that could be denied no more, she heard the ripping as he tore out the seams. He fumbled with the opening to his own trousers, then he was on top of her, wild in his frenzy, as his hard, throbbing shaft probed and searched.

She reached down to help guide him, feeling her own excitement mount as she realized what he so desperately wanted. But what was driving him to such ardent fury? What caused this craving need? Couldn't he see that she was ready for him? She had been ready for him the whole winter. There was never a time that she wasn't ready for him. As though her body itself had been trained from childhood to respond to his need, his signal, he had only to want her for her to want him. That was all she had been waiting for. Tears of need and love were in her eyes; she had waited so long for him to want her again.

With a passion as much denied as his, she opened to him, welcomed him, gave to him what he thought he was taking. She thrilled to the sensation of his long, hard member seeking her depths, filling her. He pulled back, and she hungered for him to return, to fill her again. She pushed to meet him when he did, pushed herself against his warm shaft, and felt the feeling deep inside tingle and grow. She arched her back to feel his movement, to press her place of Pleasure against him, to meet him again.

He cried out with the unbelievable joy of her. He had felt that way from the first time. They fit together, matched each other, her depth for his size, as though she was made for him, and he for her. O Mother. O Doni, how he had missed her. How he had wanted her. How he loved her. He drove in, felt the warm, wet caress of her enfold him, take him in, reach for more, until his full shaft was buried within her.

Deep surges of Pleasure washed over him, coming in waves that matched his movements. He dove in again, and again, as she reached for him, hungered for him, ached for him. With wild abandon, with no restraint, he came back, and back to her, faster and faster, and she met him every time, felt her tension grow with his, until the peak, the crest, the last wave of Pleasure broke over them both.

He rested on top of her, in the middle of the open steppes just burgeoning with new life. Then suddenly he clutched her, buried his head in her neck, and cried her name. "Ayla, oh, my Ayla, my Ayla."

He kissed her neck, kissed her throat, kissed her mouth, then kissed a closed eye. Then he stopped, as abruptly as he began. He pulled up and looked down at her.

"You're crying! I've hurt you! O Great Mother, what have I done?" he said. He jumped up and looked down at her, lying on the bare ground, her clothes torn. "Doni. O Doni, what have I done? I forced her. How could I do such a thing? To her, who only knew this pain in the beginning. Now I have done it to her. O Doni! O Mother! How could you let me do it?"

"No, Jondalar!" Ayla said, sitting up. "It's all right. You didn't hurt me."

But he wouldn't hear her. He turned his back, not able to look at her, and covered himself. He could not turn back. He walked away, angry at himself, filled with shame, and remorse. If he couldn't trust himself not to hurt her, he would have to stay away from her, and make sure she stayed away from him. She is right to choose Ranec, he thought. I don't deserve her. He heard her get up and go to the horses. Then he heard her walking toward him, and felt her hand on his arm.

"Jondalar, you didn't…"

He spun around. "Stay away from me!" he snarled, full of guilty anger at himself.

She backed off. What had she done wrong now? "Jondalar…?" she said again, taking a step toward him.

"Stay away from me! Didn't you hear me? If you don't stay away from me, I may lose control and force you again!" It came out sounding like a threat.

"You didn't force me, Jondalar," she said as he turned and strode off. "You cannot force me. There is no time I am not ready for you…"

But his thoughts were so full of remorse and self-loathing he didn't hear her.

He kept walking, back toward the Lion Camp. She watched him go for some time, trying to sort out her confusion. Then she went back for the horses. She took Racer's lead rope in her hand, and holding on to Whinney's stand-up mane, mounted the mare, and quickly caught up to Jondalar.

"You're not going to walk all the way back, are you?" she said.

He didn't answer at first, didn't even turn around to look at her. If she thought he was going to ride double with her again… he thought, as she pulled up along side. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that she was leading the young stallion behind her, and he finally turned to face her.

He looked at her with tenderness and yearning. She seemed more appealing, more desirable, and he loved her more than ever, now that he was sure he'd spoiled it all. She ached to be near him, to tell him how wonderful it had been, how full and complete she felt, how she loved him. But he had been so angry, and she was so confused, she didn't know what to say.

They stared at each other, wanting each other, drawn to each other, but their silent shout of love went unheard in the roar of misunderstanding, and the clatter of culturally ingrained beliefs.