The shelters of stone.

by Jean M. Auel.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

I am more grateful than I can say for the a.s.sistance of many people who have helped me to learn about the ancient world of the people who lived when glaciers advanced far south of today's margins and covered a quarter of the earth's surface. However, there are some details which I have chosen to use, particularly with regard to certain theories and the timing of certain sites and events, which may not be accepted by the majority of the professional community at this time. Some may be oversights but others were chosen deliberately, usually because it felt more accurate to this subjective novelist who must write about people with an understanding of human nature and logical motivation for their actions. am more grateful than I can say for the a.s.sistance of many people who have helped me to learn about the ancient world of the people who lived when glaciers advanced far south of today's margins and covered a quarter of the earth's surface. However, there are some details which I have chosen to use, particularly with regard to certain theories and the timing of certain sites and events, which may not be accepted by the majority of the professional community at this time. Some may be oversights but others were chosen deliberately, usually because it felt more accurate to this subjective novelist who must write about people with an understanding of human nature and logical motivation for their actions.

Most especially, I want to thank Dr. Jean-Philippe Rigaud, whom I met on my first research trip to Europe at his archeological excavation named Flageolet Flageolet in southwest France, once a hunting camp on a hillside that overlooked a broad gra.s.sy plain and the migrating Ice Age animals it supported. Though I was just an unknown American novelist, he took the time to explain some of the discoveries of that site, and he helped to arrange a visit to Lascaux Cave. I was brought to tears when I saw that sanctuary of prehistoric splendor painted by those early modern humans of Upper Paleolithic Europe, the Cro Magnons-work that can still stand against the finest of today. in southwest France, once a hunting camp on a hillside that overlooked a broad gra.s.sy plain and the migrating Ice Age animals it supported. Though I was just an unknown American novelist, he took the time to explain some of the discoveries of that site, and he helped to arrange a visit to Lascaux Cave. I was brought to tears when I saw that sanctuary of prehistoric splendor painted by those early modern humans of Upper Paleolithic Europe, the Cro Magnons-work that can still stand against the finest of today.

Later, when we met again at La Micoque, a very early Neanderthal site, I began to get more of a sense of the unique time at the beginning of our prehistory when the first anatomically modern humans arrived in Europe and encountered the Neanderthals who had been living there since long before the last Ice Age. Because I wanted to understand the process that is used to learn about our ancient ancestors, my husband and I worked for a short time at Dr. Rigaud's more recent excavation, Grotte Seize. Grotte Seize. He also gave me many insights into the rich and expansive living site, which today is named He also gave me many insights into the rich and expansive living site, which today is named Laugerie Haute, Laugerie Haute, but that I have called the Ninth Cave of the Zelandomi. but that I have called the Ninth Cave of the Zelandomi.

Dr. Rigaud has been of help throughout the series, but I appreciate his a.s.sistance with this book in particular. Before I started writing The Shelters of Stone, The Shelters of Stone, I took all the information I had gathered about the region and the way it was then and wrote the entire background setting in terms of the story, giving the sites my own names and describing the landscape so that when I needed the information it was easily available in my own words. I have asked many scientists and other specialists uncountable questions, but I never asked anyone to check my work before it was published. I have always taken full responsibility for the choices I made in selecting the details that were used in my books, for the way I decided to use them, and the imagination I added to them-and I still do. But because the setting for this novel is so well known, not only to archeologists and other professionals, but to the many people who have visited the region, I needed to be sure that my background details were as accurate as I could make them, so I did something I had never done before. I asked Dr. Rigaud, who knows the region and understands the archeology, to check over those many, many pages of background material for obvious errors. I didn't fully realize what a huge job I had asked of him, and I thank him profoundly for his time and efforts. He paid me the compliment of saying that the information was reasonably accurate, but he also told me some things I didn't know or hadn't understood, which I was able to correct and incorporate. Any mistakes remaining are entirely mine. I took all the information I had gathered about the region and the way it was then and wrote the entire background setting in terms of the story, giving the sites my own names and describing the landscape so that when I needed the information it was easily available in my own words. I have asked many scientists and other specialists uncountable questions, but I never asked anyone to check my work before it was published. I have always taken full responsibility for the choices I made in selecting the details that were used in my books, for the way I decided to use them, and the imagination I added to them-and I still do. But because the setting for this novel is so well known, not only to archeologists and other professionals, but to the many people who have visited the region, I needed to be sure that my background details were as accurate as I could make them, so I did something I had never done before. I asked Dr. Rigaud, who knows the region and understands the archeology, to check over those many, many pages of background material for obvious errors. I didn't fully realize what a huge job I had asked of him, and I thank him profoundly for his time and efforts. He paid me the compliment of saying that the information was reasonably accurate, but he also told me some things I didn't know or hadn't understood, which I was able to correct and incorporate. Any mistakes remaining are entirely mine.

I am deeply grateful to another French archeologist, Dr. Jean Clottes, whom I met through his colleague, Dr. Rigaud. In Montignac, at the celebration for the fiftieth anniversary of the discovery of Lascaux Cave, he was kind enough to translate for me in quiet tones the gist of some of the presentations given in French at the conference that was held in conjunction with the Lascaux event. Over the years since then we have met on both sides of the Atlantic, and I cannot thank him enough for his kindness and exceptional generosity with his time and a.s.sistance. He has guided me through many painted and engraved caves, especially in the region near the Pyrenees Mountains. Besides the fabulous caves on Count Begouen's property, I was particularly impressed with Gargas, which has so much more than the handprints for which it is so well known. I also appreciated more than I can say my second visit deep into Niaux Cave with him, which lasted about six hours and was a wonderful revelation partly because by then I had learned much more about the painted caves than I knew the first time. Though these places are not yet included in the story, the many discussions with him about concepts and ideas, especially regarding the reasons that the Cro Magnons may have had for decorating their caves and living sites, have been enlightening.

I made my first visit to the cave of Niaux in the foothills of the Pyrenees in 1982, for which I must thank Dr. Jean-Michel Belamy. I was indelibly impressed with Niaux, the animals painted on the walls of the Black Salon, the children's footprints, the beautifully painted horses deep inside the extensive cavern beyond the small lake, and much more. I was moved beyond words, for Dr. Belamy's more recent gift of the exceptional first edition of the first book about the cave of Niaux.

I feel grat.i.tude beyond measure to Count Robert Begouen, who has protected and preserved the remarkable caves on his land, LEnlene, Tue d'Audoubert, and Trois Freres, and established a unique museum for the artifacts that have been so carefully excavated from them. I was overwhelmed with the two caves I saw, and am deeply grateful to him, and Dr. Clottes, for guiding my visits.

I also want to thank Dr. David Lewis-Williams, a gentle man with strong nvictions, whose work with the Bushmen in Africa and the remarkable rock paintings of their ancestors has engendered profound and fascinating ideas and several books, one co-written with Dr. Clottes, The Shamans of Prehistory, The Shamans of Prehistory, which suggests that the ancient French cave painters may have had similar reasons for decorating the rock walls of their caves. which suggests that the ancient French cave painters may have had similar reasons for decorating the rock walls of their caves.

Thanks are also owed to Dr. Roy Larick for his helpfulness and especially for unlocking the protective metal door and showing me the beautiful horse head carved in deep relief on the wall in the lower cave at Commarque.

I am also grateful to Dr. Paul Bahn for helping me to understand some of the conference presentations at the Lascaux anniversary meeting by translating them for me. Through his efforts, I had the honor of meeting three of the men who as boys discovered the beautiful cave of Lascaux in the 1940s. The site brought me to tears when I saw its white walls filled with such remarkable polychrome paintings, I can only imagine the impression it must have made on the four boys who followed a dog into a hole and saw the cave for the first time since its entrance collapsed 15,000 years ago. Dr. Bahn has been of great a.s.sistance to me, both through discussions and his books about the intriguing prehistoric era that are the subject of this series of novels.

I feel great warmth and grat.i.tude to Dr. Jan Jelinek for continued discussions about the Upper Paleolithic Era. His insights about the people who lived during the time when anatomically modern humans arrived and settled in Europe and met the Neanderthals who were living there are always valuable. I also want to thank him for his a.s.sistance to the Czech publishers in their translations of the previous books in this series.

I read the books of Dr. Alexander Marshack, who pioneered the technique of examining carved artifacts under a microscope, long before I met him and I appreciate the efforts he has made into the understanding of Cro Magnons and Neanderthals, and the papers he sends me. I have been impressed with his cogent and thoughtful theories based on his careful studies, and continue to read his work for his penetrating and intelligent perceptions about the people who lived during the last Ice Age.

During the three months I lived near Les Eyzies de Tayac in southwest France doing research for this book, I visited Font-de-Guame Cave many times. I owe special thanks to Paulette Daubisse, who was the director and in charge of the people who guided the visitors to that beautifully painted ancient cave, for her kindness, and particularly for giving me a special private tour. She lived with that very singular site for many years, and knew it as though it were her own home. She showed me many formations and paintings that are not usually presented to the casual visitor-it would make the tours far too long-and I am more grateful than she can know for the unique insights that were revealed.

I also want to thank M. Renaud Bombard of Presse de la Cite, my French publisher, for his willingness to help me find whatever I needed, whenever I was in France doing research. Whether it was a place to make copies of a large ma.n.u.script not too far from where I was staying with someone there who could speak English so I could explain what I needed, or a good hotel in the region during the off-season when most hotels were closed, or a fabulous restaurant in the Loire valley where we could celebrate the anniversary of dear friends, or late reservations in a popular resort area on the Mediterranean which happened to be on the way to a site I wanted to see. Whatever it was, M. Bombard always managed to make it happen, and I am truly grateful.

In order to write this book, I had to learn about more than archeology and paleoanthropology and there are several other people who were of great a.s.sistance. A sincere thank-you to Dr. Ronald Naito, doctor of internal medicine in Portland, Oregon, and my personal physician for many years, who was willing to call me after his office hours and answer my questions about the symptoms and progression of certain illnesses and injuries. I also want to thank Dr. Brett Bolhofher, doctor of orthopaedic medicine in St. Petersburg, Florida, for his information about bone trauma and injuries, but even more for putting my son's shattered hip and pelvis back together after his automobile accident. Thanks also to Joseph J. Pica, orthopaedic surgery and trauma, and physician a.s.sistant to Dr. Bolhofher, for his cogent explanation of internal injuries, and his excellent care of my son. I also appreciated the discussion with Rick Frye, volunteer emergency paramedic in Washington State, about what to do first in medical emergencies.

Thanks also to Dr. John Kallas, Portland, Oregon, expert in the collection of wild foods, who continually experiments with processing and cooking them, for sharing his extensive knowledge not only of wild plant foods, but also of clams, mussels and vegetables from the sea. I had no idea there were so many different kinds of edible seaweed.

And special thanks to Lenette Stroebel of Prineville, Oregon, who has been breeding back from wild horses to the original Tarpan, and turning up some interesting characteristics. For example, they have hooves so hard they don't need horseshoes even on rocky ground, they have a stand-up mane, and they have markings similar to the horses painted on some cave walls, such as the dark legs and tail, and sometimes stripes on the flanks. And they have a beautiful gray color called gruya. She not only allowed me to see the horses, but she told me a great deal about them, and then sent a wonderful series of photographs of one of her mares giving birth, which gave me the basis for the birth of Whinney's foal.

I am grateful to Claudine Fisher, professor of French at Portland State University and Honorary French Counsel for Oregon, for French translations of research material and correspondence, and for advice and insights about this and other ma.n.u.scripts, and additional things French.

To early readers, Karen Auel-Feuer, Kendall Auel, Cathy Humble, Deanna Sterett, Claudine Fisher and Ray Auel, who hurriedly read a first finished draft and offered some good constructive suggestions, thank you.

I am deeply indebted to Betty Prashker, my sharp, smart and savvy editor. Her suggestions are always helpful and her insights invaluable.

Thanks beyond measure to my literary agent, Jean Naggar, who flew here to read the first finished draft, and along with her husband, Serge Naggar, made some suggestions, but told me it worked. She has been there from the beginning, performing miracles with this series. Thanks also to Jennifer Weltz of the Jean V. Naggar Literary Agency, who is working with Jean to perform further miracles especially with foreign rights.

With great regret, I offer grat.i.tude in memoriam, in memoriam, to David Abrams, professor of anthropology and archeology in Sacramento, California. In 1982, David and his research a.s.sistant and future wife, Diane Kelly, took Ray and me on my first research trip to Europe-France, Austria, Czechoslovakia, and Ukraine (dien Russia)-to visit for the first time some of the sites where the books in the Earth's Children to David Abrams, professor of anthropology and archeology in Sacramento, California. In 1982, David and his research a.s.sistant and future wife, Diane Kelly, took Ray and me on my first research trip to Europe-France, Austria, Czechoslovakia, and Ukraine (dien Russia)-to visit for the first time some of the sites where the books in the Earth's Children series took place, some 30,000 years ago. I was able to get a sense of the localities, which helped me tremendously. We became friends with David and Diane, and saw each other several times over the years, both here and in Europe. It was a shock to learn that he was so ill-he was too young to go-but he held on with perseverance for much longer than anyone predicted, always keeping a wonderfully positive att.i.tude. I miss him. series took place, some 30,000 years ago. I was able to get a sense of the localities, which helped me tremendously. We became friends with David and Diane, and saw each other several times over the years, both here and in Europe. It was a shock to learn that he was so ill-he was too young to go-but he held on with perseverance for much longer than anyone predicted, always keeping a wonderfully positive att.i.tude. I miss him.

I must thank another dear friend, in memoriam, in memoriam, Richard Ausman, who helped me to write these books by designing comfortable places where I could live and work. "OZ" had a special genius for creating beautiful and efficient homes, but more than that, he had been a good friend to both Ray and me for years. He thought they had caught the cancer in time, and married Paula hoping for many more years with her and her children, but it was not to be. I feel great sadness that he is no longer with us. Richard Ausman, who helped me to write these books by designing comfortable places where I could live and work. "OZ" had a special genius for creating beautiful and efficient homes, but more than that, he had been a good friend to both Ray and me for years. He thought they had caught the cancer in time, and married Paula hoping for many more years with her and her children, but it was not to be. I feel great sadness that he is no longer with us.

There are many others I probably should thank for insights and a.s.sistance, but this is too long already, so I will end with the one who counts the most. I am grateful to Ray, for his love, support and encouragement, for helping to provide the time and s.p.a.ce for me to work in spite of my strange hours, and for being there.

LIVING SITES.

The Ninth Cave The Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii The Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii Little Valley The Fourteenth Cave of the Zelandonii The Fourteenth Cave of the Zelandonii River Place The Eleventh Cave of the Zelandonii The Eleventh Cave of the Zelandonii Two Rivers Rock The Third Cave of the Zelandonii The Third Cave of the Zelandonii Horsehead Rock The Seventh Cave of the Zelandonii The Seventh Cave of the Zelandonii Elder Hearth The Second Cave of the Zelandonii The Second Cave of the Zelandonii Three Rocks The Twenty-ninth Cave of the Zelandonii The Twenty-ninth Cave of the Zelandonii Summer Camp West Holding of Three Rocks, The Twenty-ninth Cave West Holding of Three Rocks, The Twenty-ninth Cave South Face North Holding of Three Rocks, The Twenty-ninth Cave North Holding of Three Rocks, The Twenty-ninth Cave Reflection Rock South Holding of Three Rocks, The Twenty-ninth Cave South Holding of Three Rocks, The Twenty-ninth Cave Old Valley The Fifth Cave of the Zelandonii The Fifth Cave of the Zelandonii Hilltop The Nineteenth Cave of the Zelandonii The Nineteenth Cave of the Zelandonii

1.

People were gathering on the limestone ledge, looking down at them warily. No one made a gesture of welcome, and some held spears in positions of readiness if not actual threat. The young woman could almost feel their edgy fear. She watched from the bottom of the path as more people crowded together on the ledge, staring down, many more than she thought there would be. She had seen that reluctance to greet them from other people they had met on their Journey. It's not just them, she told herself, it's always that way in the beginning, but she felt uneasy.

The tall man jumped down from the back of the young stallion. He was neither reluctant nor uneasy, but he hesitated for a moment, holding the stallion's halter rope. He turned around and noticed that she was hanging back. "Ayla, will you hold Racer's rope? He seems nervous," he said, then looked up at the ledge. "I guess they do too."

She nodded, lifted her leg over, slid down from the mare's back, and took the rope. In addition to the tension of seeing strange people, the young brown horse was still agitated around his dam. She was no longer in heat, but residual odors from her encounter with the herd stallion still clung. Ayla held the halter rope of the brown male close, but gave the dun-yellow mare a long lead, and stood between them. She considered giving Whinney her head; her horse was more accustomed to large groups of strangers now, and was not usually high-strung, but she seemed nervous too. That throng of people would make anyone nervous.

When the wolf appeared, Ayla heard sounds of agitation and alarm from the ledge in front of the cave-if it could be called a cave. She'd never seen one quite like it. Wolf pressed against the side of her leg and moved somewhat in front of her, suspiciously defensive; she could feel the vibration of his barely audible growl. He was much more guarded around strangers now than he had been when they began their long Journey a year ago, but he had been little more than a puppy then, and he had become more protective of her after some perilous experiences.

As the man strode up the incline toward the apprehensive people, he showed no fear, but the woman was glad for the opportunity to wait behind and observe them before she had to meet them. She'd been expecting-dreading-this moment for more than a year, and first impressions were important...on both sides.

Though others held back, a young woman rushed toward him. Jondalar recognized his younger sister immediately, though the pretty girl had blossomed into a beautiful young woman during the five years of his absence.

"Jondalar! I knew it was you!" she said, flinging herself at him. "You finally came home!"

He gave her a big hug, then picked her up and swung her around in his enthusiasm. "Folara, I am so happy to see you!" When he put her down, he looked at her at arm's length. "But you've grown. You were just a girl when I left, now you're a beautiful woman...just as I always knew you'd be," he said, with slightly more than a brotherly glint in his eye.

She smiled at him, looked into his unbelievably vivid blue eyes and was drawn by their magnetism. She felt herself flush, not from his compliment, although that's what those standing nearby thought, but from the rush of attraction she felt for the man, brother or not, whom she had not seen for many years. She had heard stories of her handsome big brother with the unusual eyes, who could charm any woman, but her memory was of a tall adoring playmate who was willing to go along with any game or activity she wanted to play. This was the first time as a young woman that she was exposed to the full effect of his unconscious charisma. Jondalar noticed her reaction and smiled warmly at her sweet confusion.

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 intake of 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 Willamar?"

"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. They 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 one could be.

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, their first reaction was fear. It was so strange, so inexplicable, so far beyond their experience or imagination, 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, 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 him, 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 that 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 behind her and reached up to stroke Whinney's st.u.r.dy 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 he 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. She reached down to keep him close to her. "It's all right, Wolf. It's just Jondalar's kin," she said. 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 little distance back, 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, he had feared little-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 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, t.i.tles, and accomplishments, and all their kin and their relationships, along with their t.i.tles and accomplishments-and some did. But as a matter of practice, except in the most ceremonial of circ.u.mstances, 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 him 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 open-handed 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," then she smiled, "and Brother of the Traveler, Jondalar."

Joharran noticed, first, that she spoke his language well, but with an unusual accent, 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 from 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 gra.s.s, 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 wolf's neck to settle an incipient growl-even she could smell the man's fear; she was sure Wolf could.

"Let him smell your hand first," she said. "That's Wolf's 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 coa.r.s.e," she said, leading his hand to feel the animal's rather s.h.a.ggy 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 he 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 wolf's nose, he widened his eyes again, with surprise. "That wolf licked 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. 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, and then took her chin and jaw in his mouth with a rumbling growl, but 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 ever saw!" 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 her 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."