She glanced away toward the bottom of the path near the small river. “Who is that woman, Jonde?” she asked, “and where did the animals come from? Animals run away from people; why don’t those animals run away from her? Is she a Zelandoni? Has she Called them?” Then she frowned. “Where’s Thonolan?” She took a sharp breath at the look of pain that tightened Jondalar’s brow.
“Thonolan travels the next world now, Folara,” he said, “and I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for that woman.”
“Oh, Jonde! What happened?”
“It’s a long story, and this is not the time to tell it,” he said, but he had to smile at the name she called him. It was her personal nickname for him. “I haven’t heard that name since I left. Now I know I’m home. How is everyone, Folara? Is Mother all right? And Willomar?”
“They’re both fine. Mother gave us a scare a couple of years ago. But Zelandoni worked her special magic, and she seems fine now. Come and see for yourself,” she said, taking his hand and starting to lead him the rest of the way up the path.
Jondalar turned and waved at Ayla, trying to let her know that he would be back soon. He hated leaving her there alone with the animals, but he needed to see his mother, to see for himself that she was all right. That “scare” bothered him, and he needed to talk to people about the animals. He and Ayla had both come to realize how strange and frightening it was to most people to see animals that did not run away from them.
People knew animals. All the people they had met on their Journey hunted them, and most honored or paid homage to them or their spirits in one way or another. Animals had been observed carefully for as long as anyone could remember. People knew the environments they favored and the foods they liked, their migration patterns and seasonal movements, their birthing periods and rutting schedules. But no one had ever tried to touch a living, breathing animal in a friendly way. No one had ever tried to tie a rope around the head of any animal and lead it around. No one had ever tried to tame an animal, or even imagined that it could be done.
As pleased as these people were to see a kinsman return from a long Journey—especially one that few ever expected to see again—the tame animals were such an unknown phenomenon that their first reaction was fear. It was so strange, so inexplicable, so far beyond their experience or imagination that it could not be natural. It had to be unnatural, supernatural. The only thing that kept many of them from running and hiding, or attempting to kill the fearsome animals, was that Jondalar, whom they knew, had arrived with them, and he was striding up the path from Wood River with his sister, looking perfectly normal under the bright light of the sun.
Folara had shown some courage rushing forward the way she had, but she was young and had the fearlessness of youth. And she was so pleased to see her brother, who had always been a special favorite, that she couldn’t wait. Jondalar would never do anything to harm her and he didn’t fear the animals.
Ayla watched from the foot of the path while people surrounded Jondalar, welcoming him with smiles, hugs, kisses, pats, handshakes using both hands, and many words. She noticed a hugely fat woman, a brown-haired man whom Jondalar hugged, and an older woman whom he greeted warmly and then kept his arm around. Probably his mother, she thought, and wondered what the woman would think of her.
These people were his family, his kin, his friends, people he had grown up with. She was a stranger, a disturbing stranger who brought animals and who knew what other threatening foreign ways and outrageous ideas. Would they accept her? What if they didn’t? She couldn’t go back, her people lived more than a year’s travel to the east. Jondalar
had promised that he would leave with her if she wanted—or was forced—to go, but that was before he saw everyone, before he was greeted so warmly. How would he feel now?
She felt a nudge from behind and reached up to stroke Whinney’s sturdy neck, grateful that her friend had reminded her that she was not alone. When she lived in the valley, after she left the Clan, for a long time the horse had been her only companion. She hadn’t noticed the slack in Whinney’s rope as the horse moved closer to her, but she gave Racer a bit more lead. The mare and her offspring usually found friendship and comfort in each other, but when the mare came into season it had disturbed their usual pattern.
More people—how could there be so many?—were looking in her direction, and Jondalar was talking earnestly with the brown-haired man, then waved at her and smiled. When he started back down, he was followed by the young woman, the brown-haired man, and a few others. Ayla took a deep breath and waited.
As they approached, the wolf’s growl became louder. Ayla reached down to hold him close to her. “It’s all right, Wolf,” she said. “It’s just Jondalar’s kin.” Her calming touch was a signal to him to stop growling, not to appear too threatening. The signal had been difficult to teach him, but worth the effort, especially now, she thought. She wished she knew of a touch that would calm her.
The group with Jondalar stopped a short distance away, trying not to show their trepidation or to stare at the animals that openly stared at them and held their place even when strange people approached them. Jondalar stepped into the breach.
“I think we should start with formal introductions, Joharran,” he said, looking at the brown-haired man.
As Ayla dropped both halter ropes in preparation for a formal introduction, which required contact with both hands, the horses stepped back, but the wolf stayed. She noticed the glint of fear in the man’s eye, although she doubted that this man was afraid of much, and glanced at Jondalar, wondering if he had a reason for wanting formal introductions immediately. She looked closely at the unfamiliar man and was suddenly reminded of Brun, the leader of the clan that she grew up with. Powerful, proud, intelligent, competent, there was little he had feared—except the world of the spirits.
“Ayla, this is Joharran, Leader of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii, son of Marthona, former Leader of the Ninth Cave, born to the hearth of Joconan, former Leader of the Ninth Cave,” the tall blond man said with seriousness. Then he grinned. “Not to mention brother of Jondalar, Traveler to Distant Lands.”
There were a few quick smiles. His comment relieved the tension
somewhat. Strictly, in a formal introduction, a person could give the entire list of their names and ties to validate their status—all their own designations, titles and accomplishments, and all their kin and their relationships, along with their titles and accomplishments—and some did. But as a matter of practice, except in the most ceremonial of circumstances, just the primary ones were mentioned. It was not uncommon, however, for young people, especially brothers, to make jocular additions to the long and sometimes tedious recitation of one’s kinships, and Jondalar was reminding his brother of past years, before he was burdened with the responsibilities of leadership.
“Joharran, this is Ayla of the Mamutoi, Member of the Lion Camp, Daughter of the Mammoth Hearth, Chosen by the Spirit of the Cave Lion, and Protected by the Cave Bear.”
The brown-haired man crossed the distance between himself and the young woman and held out both hands, palms up, in the understood gesture of welcome and openhanded friendship. He did not recognize any of her ties, and he wasn’t entirely sure which were most important.
“In the name of Doni, the Great Earth Mother, I welcome you, Ayla of the Mamutoi, Daughter of the Mammoth Hearth,” he said.
Ayla took both his hands. “In the name of Mut, Great Mother of All, I greet you, Joharran, Leader of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii,” she said, then smiled. “And brother of the traveler Jondalar.”
Joharran noticed first that she spoke his language well, but with an unusual accent, and then he became conscious of her strange clothing and her foreign look, but when she smiled, he smiled back. Partly because she had showed her understanding of Jondalar’s remark and let Joharran know that his brother was important to her, but mostly because he could not resist her smile.
Ayla was an attractive woman by anyone’s standards: she was tall, had a firm, well-shaped body, long, dark blond hair that tended to wave, clear blue-gray eyes, and fine features, though of a slightly different character than those of Zelandonii women. But when she smiled, it was as if the sun had cast a special beam on her that lit each feature from within. She seemed to glow with such stunning beauty, Joharran caught his breath. Jondalar had always said her smile was remarkable, and he grinned seeing that his brother was not immune to it.
Then Joharran noticed the stallion prance nervously toward Jondalar, and he eyed the wolf. “Jondalar tells me we need to make some … ah … accommodation for these animals … somewhere nearby, I presume.” Not too near, he thought.
“The horses just need a field with grass, near water, but we need to tell people that they shouldn’t try to get close to them in the beginning
unless Jondalar or I am with them. Whinney and Racer are nervous around people until they get used to them,” Ayla said.
“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Joharran said, catching the movement of Whinney’s tail and eyeing her. “They can stay here, if this small valley is appropriate.”
“This will be fine,” Jondalar said. “Though we may move them upstream, out of the way a little.”
“Wolf is accustomed to sleeping near me,” Ayla continued. She noticed Joharran’s frown. “He’s become quite protective and might cause a commotion if he can’t be close by.”
She could see his resemblance to Jondalar particularly in his forehead knotted with worry, and wanted to smile. But Joharran was seriously concerned. This was not a time for smiles, even if his expression gave her a feeling of warm familiarity.
Jondalar, too, had seen his brother’s worried frown. “I think this would be a good time to introduce Joharran to Wolf,” he said.
Joharran’s eyes flew open in near panic, but before he could object, she reached for his hand as she bent down beside the meat eater. She put her arm around the large wolfs neck to settle an incipient growl—even she could smell the man’s fear, so she was sure Wolf could.
“Let him smell your hand, first,” she said. “That’s Wolfs formal introduction.” The wolf had learned from previous experience that it was important to Ayla for him to accept within his pack of humans the people she introduced to him in this way. He didn’t like the smell of fear, but sniffed the man to become familiar with him.
“Have you ever really felt the fur of a living wolf, Joharran?” she asked, looking up at him. “If you notice, it’s a little coarse,” she said, leading his hand to feel the animal’s rather shaggy neck fur. “He’s still shedding and itchy, and he loves to be scratched behind the ears,” she continued, showing him how.
Joharran felt the fur, but was more aware of the warmth, and suddenly realized this was a living wolf! And it didn’t seem to mind being touched.
Ayla observed that his hand was not as stiff, and that he actually attempted to rub the place she indicated. “Let him smell your hand again.”
When Joharran brought his hand around toward the wolfs nose, he widened his eyes again, with surprise. “That wolf licked me!” he said, not sure if it was in preparation for something better—or worse. Then he saw Wolf lick Ayla’s face, and she seemed very pleased about it.
“Yes, you were good, Wolf,” she said, smiling, as she fondled him and roughed up his mane. Then she stood up and patted the front of her shoulders. The wolf jumped up, put his paws on the place she had
indicated, and as she exposed her throat, he licked her neck, then took her chin and jaw in his mouth with a rumbling growl, but with great gentleness.
Jondalar noticed the gasps of astonishment from Joharran and the others and realized how frightening the familiar act of wolfish affection must seem to people who didn’t understand. His brother looked at him, his expression both fearful and amazed. “What’s he doing to her?”
“Are you sure that’s all right?” Folara asked at nearly the same time. She could no longer keep still. The other people were making indecisive nervous movements as well.
Jondalar smiled. “Yes, Ayla is fine. He loves her; he would never hurt her. That’s how wolves show affection. It took me a while to get used to it, too, and I’ve known Wolf as long as she has, ever since he was a fuzzy little cub.”
“That’s no cub! That’s a big wolf! That’s the biggest wolf I’ve ever seen!” Joharran said. “He could tear her throat out!”
“Yes. He could tear her throat out. I’ve seen him tear a woman’s throat out … a woman who was trying to kill Ayla,” Jondalar said. “Wolf protects her.”
The Zelandonii who were watching breathed a collective sigh of relief when the wolf got down and stood by Ayla’s side again with his mouth open and his tongue hanging out the side, showing his teeth. Wolf had that look that Jondalar thought of as his wolf grin, as though he was pleased with himself.
“Does he do that all the time?” Folara asked. “To … anyone?”
“No,” Jondalar said. “Only to Ayla, and sometimes me, if he’s feeling particularly happy, and only if we allow it. He’s well-behaved, he won’t harm anyone … unless Ayla is threatened.”
“What about children?” Folara asked. “Wolves often go after the weak and the young.” At the mention of children, looks of concern appeared on the faces of the people standing nearby.
“Wolf loves children,” Ayla quickly explained, “and he is very protective toward them, particularly very young or weak ones. He was raised with the children of the Lion Camp.”
“There was a very weak and sickly boy, who belonged to the Lion Hearth,” Jondalar contributed- “You should have seen them play together. Wolf was always careful around him.”
“That’s a very unusual animal,” another man said. “It’s hard to believe a wolf could behave so … unwolflike.”
“You’re right, Solaban,” Jondalar said. “He does behave in ways that seem very unwolflike to people, but if we were wolves we wouldn’t think so. He was raised with people and Ayla says he thinks of people as his pack. He treats people as though they were wolves.”
“Does he hunt?” the man called Solaban wanted to know.