Ayla smiled. “She had a girl, yesterday. The baby seems perfectly healthy—I don’t think she was early. They both seem fine. Jeviva and Jonclotan are very happy.”
“It looks like you brought something,” Joharran said, motioning toward the travois.
“Lorigan, Forason, Jonclotan, and I did a little hunting,” Ayla said. “We came upon a herd of red deer in Grass Valley, and got two stags. I left one there. It will hold them for a while. I brought the other one with me. I thought some fresh meat might be welcome about now. I know animals get a little scarce around here about this time. We had some before I left. They’re good, already building up fat for winter.”
Several more of the Ninth Cave arrived, and some others as well. Joharran and a couple of them started to unload the pole-drag.
Matagan, Jondalar’s first apprentice, ran with a limp, but ran nonetheless, and greeted her enthusiastically. “People have been asking when you were coming. Zelandoni kept saying it could be anytime. But no one was expecting you in the middle of the day,” Garthadal said. “Jondalar was sure that you wouldn’t get here until evening or later. He said when you decided to come, you’d probably ride your horse and make the trip in one day.”
“He was right. At least that’s what I planned to do, but Jeralda went into labor in the middle of the night, and had her baby in the morning. I was too restless to wait, so I left in the afternoon and camped out last night,” Ayla explained. Then, looking around, she asked, “Where is Jondalar? And Jonayla?”
Joharran and Proleva glanced at each other, then quickly looked away. “Jonayla is with the other girls her age,” Proleva said. “The zelandonia had some things for them to do. They’re going to take part in a special celebration Those Who Serve have planned.”
“I’m not sure where Jondalar is,” Joharran said, his brow knotted with the frown that was so like his brother’s. He glanced up behind Ayla, and smiled. “But there is someone here who has been wanting to see you.”
Ayla turned around and looked in the direction that Joharran had glanced. She saw a giant of a man with wild red hair and a bushy red beard. Her eyes opened wide.
“Talut? Talut, is it you?” she cried, rushing toward the burly man.
“No, Ayla. Not Talut. I am Danug, but Talut told me to give you a big hug for him, too,” the young man said as he swept her up in a big, friendly embrace. She felt, not crushed—Danug had learned long ago to be careful of his overpowering strength—but enveloped, overwhelmed, almost smothered by the sheer size of the man. He was taller, by some measure, than Jondalar’s six feet, six inches. His shoulders were nearly as broad as those of two ordinary men and his arms were the size of most men’s thighs. She couldn’t fully wrap her arms around his massive chest, and though his waist was slender enough in proportion, his muscular thighs and calves were huge.
Ayla had known only one other to match Danug’s size: Talut, the man to whom Danug’s mother was mated, the headman of the Lion Camp of the Mamutoi. And, if anything, the young man was bigger.
“I told you I was going to come and visit you someday,” he said, when he put her down. “How are you, Ayla?”
“Oh, Danug,” she said, tears filling her eyes. “I’m so glad to see you. How long have you been here? How did you get here? How did you get so big? I think you’re bigger than Talut!” She easily slipped into speaking Mamutoi, but though her words were understood, it didn’t make her questions follow any logical order.
“I think he is, too, but I’d never dare say that to Talut.”
Ayla turned at the sound of the voice, and saw another young man. He seemed to be a stranger, but as she looked closer, she began to see similarities to others she had known. He resembled Barzec, though he was larger than the short, sturdy man who was mated to Tulie, the big headwoman of the Lion Camp. She was Talut’s sister, and almost matched him in size. The young man bore a certain resemblance to both of them.“
“Druwez?” Ayla said. “Are you Druwez?”
“It’s hard to mistake the big galoot,” the young man said, smiling at Danug, “but I didn’t know if you would recognize me.”
“You have changed,” Ayla said, hugging him, “but I can see your mother, and Barzec, in you. How are they? And how’s Nezzie, and Deegie, and everyone?” she asked, including both in her glance. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed everyone.”
“They miss you, too,” Danug said. “But we have someone else with us who’s been looking forward to meeting you.”
A tall young man with a shy smile and curly brown hair was standing back a bit. He came forward at the prompting of the two young Mamutoi. Ayla knew she had never met him before, yet there was something strangely familiar about him—she just couldn’t put her finger on it.
“Ayla of the Mamutoi … Zelandonii now, I guess, meet Aldanor of the S’Armunai,” Danug said.
“S’Armunai!” Ayla said. Suddenly she realized what was so familiar about him. His clothing, especially his shirt. It was cut and decorated in the unique style of those people she and Jondalar had involuntarily visited on their Journey. Memories came rushing back. They were the people who had captured Jondalar, or rather, Attaroa’s Camp of S’Armunai had. Ayla with Wolf and the horses had tracked them and found him. But that had not been the first time she had seen a shirt made in that style. Ranec, the Mamutoi man she almost mated, had one that he had traded carvings for.
Ayla suddenly realized they were staring at each other. She collected herself, stepped toward the young man with both hands held out in greeting. “In the name of Doni, the Great Earth Mother, also known as Muna, you are welcome here, Aldanor of the S’Armunai,” she said.
“In the name of Muna, I thank you, Ayla.” He smiled a shy grin. “You may be Mamutoi or Zelandonii, but did you know that among the S’Armunai you are known as ‘S’Ayla, Mother of the Wolf Star, sent to destroy Attaroa, the Evil One’? There are so many stories about you, I didn’t believe you were a real person. I thought you were a Legend. When Danug and Druwez stopped at our camp and said they were making a Journey to visit you, I asked if I could go along. Now I can’t believe I’m actually meeting you!”
Ayla smiled and shook her head. “I don’t know about stories or Legends,” she said. “People often believe what they want to believe.” He seems like a nice young man, sh
e thought.
“I have something for you, Ayla,” Danug said. “If you’ll come inside, I’ll give it to you.” She followed Danug into a smallish hide-covered structure, apparently their traveling-tent, and watched as he rummaged through a pack. Finally he pulled out a small object carefully wrapped and tied with a cord. “Ranec told me to give this to you personally.”
Ayla unwrapped the small package. Her eyes opened wide and she gasped with surprise as she held the object in her hand. It was a horse carved out of mammoth ivory, small enough to fit in her hand, but so exquisitely carved, it almost looked alive. Its head was thrust forward as though straining into the wind. The stand-up mane and shaggy coat were carved with a pattern of lines that suggested the rough texture of the horse’s hide without hiding the stocky conformation of the small steppe horse. A shade of yellow ocher, the color of dry standing hay, had been rubbed onto the animal, matching the familiar color of one horse she knew, and a blackish color shaded the lower legs and the length of the spine.
“Oh, Danug. She’s just beautiful. It’s Whinney, isn’t it?” Ayla smiled, but her eyes glistened with tears.