When Ayla arrived back at camp, everything was ready for her. Jondalar had just finished erecting the three poles to keep the food they carried out of the reach of most of the animals that might be interested in it. The tent was up, the hole was dug and lined with rocks, and he had even used some stones to make a boundary for the fireplace.
"Look at that island," he told her as she dismounted. He pointed to a stretch of land, built of accumulated silt, in the middle of the river with sedge, reeds, and several trees growing on it. "There's a whole flock of storks over there, black ones and white ones. I watched them land," he said with a pleased smile. "I kept wishing you would come. It was a sight worth seeing. They were diving and soaring, even flipping over. They just folded their wings and dropped from the sky to land; then when they were almost down, they opened their wings. It looked like they were heading south. They'll probably leave in the morning."
Ayla looked across the water at the large, long-billed, long-legged, stately birds. They were actively feeding, walking or running on the land or in the shallow water, snapping at anything that moved with their long, strong beaks, taking fish, lizards, frogs, insects, and earthworms. They even ate carrion, judging from the way they went after the remains of a bison washed up on the beach. The two species were quite similar in general shape, though different in coloring. The white storks had black-edged wings and there were more of them; the black storks had white underparts, and most of them were in the water after fish.
"We saw a big herd of horses on the way back," Ayla said, reaching for the ptarmigan and partridges. "A lot of mares and young ones, but a male was close by. The herd stallion is white."
"White?"
"As white as those white storks. He didn't even have black legs," she said, unfastening the thongs of the pack-saddle basket. "You'd never see him in snow."
"White is rare. I've never seen a white horse," Jondalar said. Then, thinking back to Noria and the First Rites ceremony, he recalled the white horsehide hanging on the wall behind the bed, decorated with the red heads of immature great spotted woodpeckers. "But I did once see the hide of a white horse," he said.
Something about the tone of his voice made Ayla look closer. He saw her look, blushed a little as he turned away to lift the carrier basket off Whinney, then felt compelled to explain further.
"It was during the… ceremony with the Hadumai."
"Are they horse hunters?" Ayla asked. She folded the riding blanket, then picked up the birds and walked to the edge of the river.
"Well, they do hunt horses. Why?" Jondalar asked, walking along with her.
"Remember Talut telling us about hunting the white mammoth? It was very sacred to the Mamutoi because they are the Mammoth Hunters," Ayla said. "If the Hadumai use a white horsehide during ceremonies, I wondered if they thought horses were special animals."
"It's possible, but we weren't with them long enough to know," Jondalar said.
"But they do hunt horses?" she asked, starting to pluck the feathers from the birds.
"Yes, they were hunting horses when Thonolan met them. They weren't very happy with us at first, because we had scattered the herd they were after, but we didn't know."
"I think I will put Whinney's halter on tonight, and tie her next to the tent," Ayla said. "If there are horse hunters out there, I'd rather have her close by. And besides, I didn't like the way that white stallion was coming for her."
"You may be right. Maybe I should stake Racer down, too. I wouldn't mind seeing that white stallion, though," Jondalar said.
"I'd rather not see him again. He was too interested in Whinney. But he is unusual, and beautiful. You're right, white is rare," Ayla said. Feathers were flying as she pulled them out with rapid movements. She paused for a moment. "Black is rare, too," she said. "Do you remember when Ranec said that? I'm sure he meant himself as well, even though he was brown, not really black."
Jondalar felt a pang of jealousy at the mention of the name of the man Ayla almost mated, even though she had come away with him instead. "Are you sorry you did not stay with the Mamutoi and mate with Ranec?" he asked.
She turned and looked at him directly, her hands stopping her task. "Jondalar, you know the only reason I Promised Ranec was that I thought you didn't love me any more, and I knew he did… but, yes, I am a little sorry. I could have stayed with the Mamutoi. If I had not met you, I think I could have been happy with Ranec. I did love him, in a way, but not the way I love you."
"Well, that's an honest answer, anyway," he said, frowning.
"I could have stayed with the Sharamudoi, too, but I want to be where you are. If you need to return to your home, then I want to go with you," Ayla continued, trying to explain. Noticing his frown, she knew it wasn't quite the answer he wanted to hear.
"You asked me, Jondalar. When you ask, I will always tell you what I feel. When I ask, I want you to tell me how you feel. Even if I don't ask, I want you to tell me if something is wrong. I don't ever want that kind of misunderstanding we had last winter to come between us, where I don't know what you mean, and you won't tell me, or you guess that I feel something, but you don't ask. Promise me that you will always tell me, Jondalar."
She looked so serious and so earnest that it made him want to smile with affection. "I promise, Ayla. I would never want to go through a time like that again, either. I couldn't stand it when you were with Ranec, especially when I could see why any woman would be interested in him. He was funny, and friendly. And he was a fine carver, a true artist. My mother would have liked him. She likes artists and carvers. If things had been different, I would have liked him myself. He reminded me of Thonolan, in a way. He may have looked different, but he was just like the Mamutoi, outspoken, confident."
"He was a Mamutoi," Ayla said. "I do miss the Lion Camp. I miss the people. We haven't seen many people on this Journey. I didn't know how far you had traveled, Jondalar, or how much land there is. So much land and so few people."
As the sun moved closer to the earth, the clouds over the high mountains to the west were reaching up to embrace the fiery orb and glowing pink in their excitement. The brightness settled into the brilliant enveloping display, then faded into darkness while Ayla and Jondalar finished their meal. Ayla got up to put the extra birds away; she had cooked much more than they could eat. Jondalar put cooking stones back in the fire in preparation for their evening tea.
"They were delicious," Jondalar said. "I'm glad you wanted to stop early. It was worth it."
Ayla happened to glance toward the island, and, with a gasp, her eyes opened wide. Jondalar heard her startled intake of breath, and looked up.
Several people carrying spears had appeared out of the gloom and stepped into the edge of the light by the fire. Two of them wore capes of horsehide, with the dried head still attached and worn over the head like a hood. Jondalar stood up. One of the men pulled his horse-head hood back and walked toward him.
"Zel-an-don-yee!" the man said, pointing at the tall blond man. Then he slapped himself on his chest. "Hadumai! Jeren!" He was grinning broadly.
Jondalar looked closely, then grinned back. "Jeren! Is that you? Great Mother, I can't believe it! It is you."
The man started talking in a language just as unintelligible to Jondalar as his was to Jeren, but the friendly smiles were understood.
"Ayla!" Jondalar said, motioning her over. "This is Jeren. He's the Hadumai hunter who stopped us when we were heading the other way. I can't believe it!" Both were still grinning with delight. Jeren looked at Ayla, and his smile took on an appreciative gleam as he nodded at Jondalar.