"No," Marona interjected. "This is the home of my brother and his mate, and their three children. Wylopa and I live here with them. We share this room."

Ayla glanced quickly around at the space set off by panels, similar to the way Marthona's dwelling was divided.her again, and I miss her. It's nice to have women friends."

Portula was surprised and touched by the newcomer's honest and friendly response; her smirk warmed to a real smile.

"Since it's a feast to welcome you," Marona said, "we thought we would give you something to wear, too. I asked my cousin to gather some clothes for you to try on, Ayla." Marona looked at clothing that had been placed around. "You've found a good selection, Wylopa." Lorava giggled. Portula looked away.

Ayla noticed several outfits spread out on the bed and floor, primarily leggings and long-sleeved shirts or tunics. Then she looked at the clothing the four women were wearing.

Wylopa, who seemed older than Marona, was wearing an outfit similar to the ones laid out, worn quite loose, Ayla noticed. Lorava, who was rather young, had on a short sleeveless leather tunic, belted around the hips, cut somewhat differently from the ones spread out. Portula, who was fairly plump, wore a full skirt made of some kind of fibrous material and a loose- fitting top with a long fringe that hung over the skirt. Marona, who was thingether at the sides, made the loincloth resemble a short skirt. Marona's, she noticed, was fringed on both front and back ends. She had left an open space on both sides, showing a long, bare, shapely leg, and tied the thong low, barely over her hips, causing the fringe in front and back to sway when she walked. Ayla thought Marona's clothes-the very short top that did not meet in front and could never be closed, and the skimpy loincloth skirt- looked small for her, as though they had been made for a child, not a woman. Yet she was certain that the light-haired woman chose her clothing purposefully and with great care.

"Go ahead, pick something out," Marona said, "and then we'll fix your hair. We want this to be a special night for you."

"All these things look so big, and heavy," Ayla said. "Won't they be too warm?"

"It cools off at night," Wylopa said, "and these clothes are supposed to be worn loose. Like this." She lifted her arms and showed the loose blousy fit."This is too big," Ayla said. She didn't see Lorava, but she thought she heard a muffled sound behind her.

"No, it's not," Wylopa said, smiling broadly. "You just need a belt, and you're supposed to roll up the sleeves. Like I did, see? Portula, bring that belt, so I can show her."

The plump woman brought a belt, but she wasn't smiling anymore, un- like Marona and her cousin, who smiled excessively. Marona took the belt and wrapped it around Ayla. "You tie it low, like this, around your hips, and let it blouse out, and then the fringe hangs down. See?"

Ayla still felt there was far too much material. "No, I don't think this one fits right. It really is too big. And look at these leggings," she said, taking the pair that was beside the tunic and holding them in front of herself. "The waist comes up much too high." She pulled the tunic off over her head.

"You're right," Marona said. "Try on another one." They picked out an- other outfit, slightly smaller and very intricately decorated with ivory beads and shells."I suppose you might think it's too big if you're not used to Zelandonii clothes," Marona said, frowning, then she brightened with a self-satisfied smile. "But perhaps you are right. Wait here. I think I know something that would be just perfect, and it was just made." She left the sleeping room and went into another part of the dwelling. After a while, she returned with an- other outfit.

This one was much smaller and lighter in weight. Ayla tried it on. The tight leggings came halfway down her calf but fit correctly at the waist, where the front overlapped and tied with a sturdy flexible thong. The top was a sleeveless tunic, with a deep V cut down the front, laced together with thin leather thongs. It was a little small, and Ayla could not lace it to- gether tightly, but with the thongs loosened, it wasn't bad. Unlike the others, it was a simple, undecorated outfit, made of a soft leather that felt nice against her skin.

"This is very comfortable," Ayla said.

"And I have just the thing to set it off," Marona said, showing her a belt woven out of various colored fibers into an intricate pattern."Now, you must let me fix your hair," Wylopa said, still smiling broadly.

"I promise to do your face after I do Portula's," Marona said.

"And you said you'd fix my hair, Wylopa," Portula said.

"You promised to do me, too," Lorava said from the entrance to the room.

"If you are over your coughing spell," Marona said, giving the young woman a hard look.

While Wylopa combed and fussed with her hair, Ayla watched with in- terest as Marona decorated the faces of the two other women. She used solidified fats mixed with finely powdered red and yellow ochres to add color to mouths, cheeks, and forehead, and mixed with black charcoal to emphasize the eyes. Then she used more intense shades of the same colors to add carefully drawn designs of dots, curved lines, and various other shapes to their faces in a way that reminded Ayla of the tattoos she had seen on some people.color and design that was very pleasing, but Ayla wasn't sure she liked the way the women looked. It seemed too much, somehow.

"No... I don't think so," Ayla said.

"But you have to!" Lorava said, looking dismayed.

"Everyone does it," Marona said. "You would be the only one without it."

"Yes! Go on. Let Marona do it. It's what all the women do," Wylopa said.

"You really should," Lorava urged. "Everyone always wants Marona to paint her face. You're lucky she's willing."

They were pressing her so hard, it made Ayla want to resist. Marthona had not said anything to her about having to get her face painted. She wanted to take the time to find her way and not be pushed into customs she was not familiar with.

"No, not this time. Perhaps later," Ayla said.faces until they put earrings into their earlobes and pluglike ornaments into their noses, cheeks, and under the lower lips, but she saw that some of the painted decorations now accentuated the ornaments that had been added.

"Don't you have any piercings?" Lorava asked. "You'll just have to get some. Too bad we can't do them now."

Ayla wasn't sure if she wanted to be pierced, except perhaps in the earlobes so she could wear the earrings she had brought with her all the way from the Summer Meeting of the Mammoth Hunters. She watched the women add beads and pendants around their necks and bracelets on their arms.

She noticed that the women glanced from time to time at something be- hind a dividing panel. Finally, a little bored with all the combing and deco- rating, she got up and wandered over to see what they were looking at.

She heard Lorava gasp when she saw the piece of blackened shiny wood, similar to the reflector in Marthona's dwelling, and looked at herself.

Ayla was not happy with the reflection she saw. Her hair had been dressed into braids and coils, but they seemed to be in odd unattractivemoved all the paraphernalia, she picked up the comb and pulled it through her long, thick, dark blond hair, springy with a fresh-washed natural wave.

She adjusted her amulet around her neck-she never liked to be without it, though she often wore it under her clothes-then looked at herself in the reflector. Maybe someday she'd learn to fix her own hair, but for now she liked it much better the way it fell naturally. She glanced at Wylopa and wondered why the woman hadn't seen how peculiar her hair had looked.

Ayla noticed her leather amulet bag in the reflector and tried to see it the way someone else might. It was lumpy with the objects it contained, and the color was much darker from sweat and wear than it had been. The small decorated bag had originally been intended as a sewing kit. Now, only dark quill-shafts remained of what had once been white feathers deco- rating the rounded bottom edge, but the ivory-beaded design was still intact and added an interesting look with the simple leather tunic. She decided to let it show.

She remembered that it was her friend Deegie who had persuaded her to use it as her amulet when she saw the plain and grimy pouch Ayla had worn before. Now this one was old and worn. She thought she ought to"Everyone's waiting for Ayla," a voice called. It sounded like Folara.

"Tell them she'll be out soon," Marona answered. "Are you sure you won't let me paint your face a little, Ayla? After all, it is a celebration for you."

"No, I really don't want to."

"Well, since they're waiting for you, maybe you should go ahead. We'll be along in a while," Marona said. "We still have to change."

"I think I will," Ayla said, glad to have an excuse to leave. They had been inside for a long time, it seemed to her. "Thank you for your gifts," she remembered to say. "This is really a very comfortable outfit." She picked up her worn tunic and short pants and went out.

She saw no one under the overhanging shelter; Folara had gone ahead without waiting for her. Ayla quickly veered toward Marthona's dwelling and left her old clothing inside the entrance. Then she walked rapidly toward the crowd of people she saw outside, beyond the shadow of the high stone shelf that protected the structures nestled beneath it.Why were they laughing? Were they laughing at her? Was something wrong? Her face reddened with embarrassment. Had she committed some terrible blunder? She looked around, wanting to run away but not knowing which way to turn.

She saw Jondalar striding toward her, his face an angry scowl. Mar- thona was hurrying toward her, too, from another direction.

"Jondalar!" Ayla called out as he approached. "Why is everyone laugh- ing at me? What's wrong? What have I done?" She was speaking in Ma- mutoi and didn't realize it.

"You are wearing a boy's winter underwear. Your belt is one that is worn by a young man during his puberty initiation, to let people know he is ready for his donii-woman," Jondalar said in the same language she had spoken.

He was furious that Ayla had been made the butt of such a cruel joke on her first day with his people.

"Where did you get those clothes?" Marthona asked as she ap- proached.hang were the four women. They were holding their sides, leaning against each other, laughing so hard at the woman they had tricked into wearing completely inappropriate boys' clothing, that tears were streaming down their faces, smearing their careful makeup with red and black streaks. Ayla realized they were taking great pleasure in her discomfort and embarrass- ment.

As she watched the women, she felt a flush of anger rise within her.

This was the gift they wanted to give her? To welcome her? They wanted people to laugh at her like this? She understood then that everything they had laid out for her was inappropriate for a woman. It was obvious to her now that it all had been men's clothing. But it wasn't only the clothes, she realized. Was that why they had made her hair look so peculiar? So people would laugh at her? And had they planned to paint her face to make her look laughable, too?

Ayla had always rejoiced in laughter. When she lived with the Clan, she was the only one who laughed with pleasure, until her son was born. When people of the Clan made a grimace that resembled a smile, it was not a sign of happiness. It was an expression of nervousness, or fearfulness, or it signaled a threat of possible aggression. Her son was the only baby whofirst time they met. She had met many people in their travels, and had laughed with them many times, but she had never been laughed at before.

She had never learned that laughter could be used to hurt. This was the first time laughter had caused her pain and not joy.

Marthona, too, was not happy with the nasty trick that had been played on the visitor, the guest of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii, whom her son had brought home to mate with him and become one of them.

"Come with me, Ayla," Marthona said. "Let me get you something more appropriate. I'm sure we can find something of mine that you can wear."

"Or something of mine," Folara said. She had seen the whole incident and had come to help.

Ayla started to go with them, then stopped. "No," she said.

Those women had given her the wrong clothes as "gifts of welcome"

because they wanted to make her look outlandish, different, to show she didn't belong. Well, she had thanked them for their "gifts" and she was go- ing to wear them! It was not the first time she had been the object of stares.same. Ayla straightened her back, clamped her jaw shut, jutted out her chin, and glared at the laughing throng.

"Thank you, Marthona. And you, too, Folara. But this outfit will do just fine. It was given to me as a gift of welcome. I would not be so discourteous as to cast it aside."

She glanced behind her and noticed that Marona and the others were gone. They had returned to Marona's room. Ayla turned back to face the large gathering of people who had assembled and started walking toward them. Marthona and Folara looked at Jondalar, stunned, when she passed by, but he could only shrug and shake his head.

Ayla caught a familiar movement out of the corner of her eye as she proceeded. Wolf had appeared at the head of the path and was running toward her. When he reached her, she patted herself and he jumped up and put his paws on the front of her shoulders, then licked her throat and took it gently in his jaws. There was an audible commotion from the crowd.

Ayla signaled him down, then indicated that he should follow her, closely, the way she had taught him at the Mamutoi Summer Meeting."I have not yet met some of the people here. Would you introduce me, Jondalar?" Ayla said.

Joharran stepped forward instead. "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 Spirit of the Cave Bear... and Friend of horses and a wolf, this is my mate, Proleva of the Ninth Cave of the Zelan- donii, Daughter of..."

Willamar grinned as formal introductions were made to close kin and friends, but his expression was in no way derisive. Marthona, more and more amazed, observed with greater interest the young woman her son had brought home with him. She caught Zelandoni's eye, and a knowing glance passed between them; they would discuss this later.

Many people looked at her more than once-especially men, who be- gan to notice how well the garments and belt fit the person wearing them, in spite of what they meant to them. She had been traveling for the past year, walking or riding a horse, and her muscles were firm. The close-fitting boy's winter undergarment emphasized her lean, muscular, well-formedwear facial ornaments and paint, her lack of them only served to highlight her natural beauty. Her long hair, tumbling loosely in the disarray of natural waves and ringlets that caught the last rays of the setting sun, was an ap- pealing and sensuous contrast to the well-groomed coiffures of the other women. She seemed young and reminded adult men of their own youth and their first awakening to the Great Earth Mother's Gift of Pleasure. It made them wish they were young again and that Ayla was their donii- woman.

The outlandishness of Ayla's clothing was quickly forgotten, accepted as somehow appropriate for the beautiful stranger with the low-pitched voice and exotic accent. It was certainly no more strange than her control over horses and Wolf.

Jondalar noticed people watching Ayla and heard her name mentioned in the undercurrent of conversation. Then he overheard a man say, "That's a remarkably beautiful woman Jondalar has brought home with him."

"You'd expect him to bring a beautiful woman," a woman's voice replied, "but she has courage, too, and a strong will. I'd like to get to know her bet- ter."woman, he thought, and courageous. He relaxed and smiled, remembering their afternoon ride and the stop on the high field, thinking how lucky he was.

Marona and her three confederates had returned, still laughing, to her room to repair the damage to their face paint. They had planned to make their appearance later, dressed in their best and most suitable clothing, expecting to make a grand entrance.

Marona had exchanged the loincloth skirt for a long graceful one of very soft pliable leather with a long fringed overskirt, which she wrapped around her waist and hips and tied, but she wore the same decorated short top.

Portula had been wearing her favorite skirt and top. Lorava had only the short tunic dress with her, but the other women had loaned her a long fringed overskirt and several extra necklaces and bracelets, and fixed her hair and painted her face much more elaborately than she had ever worn it before. Wylopa, laughing as she removed the decorated shirt and trousers made for a man, had changed into her own highly decorated trousers, dyed an orangy shade of red, and more deeply colored tunic with a dark fringe.soon be one of their own. And besides, she had carried it off so well, it showed her mettle, made them proud of her.

The four women saw a large group crowded around someone, and when several people left, they could see Ayla at the center, still wearing the clothes they had given her. She hadn't even changed! Marona was shocked. She had been sure one of Jondalar's kin would have given the newcomer something more appropriate to wear-that is, if she dared to show her face again. But her plans to show up the strange woman that Jondalar had brought back with him, after leaving her in the lurch with nothing but an empty promise, had instead shown what a spiteful and mean-spirited person she was.

Marona's cruel joke had turned back on her, and she was fuming. She had coaxed and cajoled her friends into joining her, promising them they would be the center of attention, telling them how much they would shine.

Instead, everyone seemed to be talking about Jondalar's woman. Even her strange accent, at which Lorava had nearly laughed out loud, and Wylopa had had difficulty understanding, was called exotic and charming.beauty when she put it on? But the women had seen what they expected to see, the symbolism, not the reality. None of them could have imagined wearing such garments in public, but they didn't matter to Ayla. She had no emotional or cultural sensitivity toward them or what they represented. If she thought about them at all, it was only to notice how comfortable they were. Once the shock of the laughter had subsided, she forgot about it.

And because she did, everyone else did, too.

A large block of limestone with a fairly flat top surface occupied a space on the terrace in front of the great abri. It had broken off the end of the overhanging shelf so long before, no one remembered a time when it was- n't there. It was often used when someone wanted to get the attention of people who had gathered in the area, because when a person stood on it, it raised them a few feet above the level of the crowd.

As Joharran jumped up onto the Speaking Stone, an expectant hush began to descend on the gathering. He held his hand out to Ayla, to help her up, then to Jondalar to invite him to stand beside her. Wolf jumped up without an invitation and stood between the woman and man of the only pack he had ever known. Standing together on the rock elevated above the others, the tall handsome man, the beautiful exotic woman, and the hugenized several people from nearby Caves, and then several more. He real- ized the gathering was much larger than he had anticipated.

Most of the Third Cave were on the left, and the Fourteenth Cave were beside them. Toward the back on the right were many people from the Eleventh. There were even a few from the Second Cave and some from their kin across the valley that separated them, the Seventh Cave. Inter- spersed among the others he noted a few people from the Twenty-ninth, and even a couple from the Fifth. Every Cave in the neighboring vicinity was represented, and some had come quite a distance.

Word has spread fast, he thought, runners must have gone out. We might not need to have a second gathering for the larger community. Eve- ryone seems to be here. I should have realized they would be. And all the Caves upriver along the way must have seen them, too. After all, Jondalar and Ayla traveled south sitting on the backs of horses. There may be a lot more people at the Summer Meeting this year. Maybe we should plan a big hunt before we leave, to help with provisions.

When he had everyone's attention, he waited a beat more while he col- lected his thoughts. Finally, he began.Voices of concurrence called out. Joharran paused, and Ayla noticed his brow furrow in that same familiar way that Jondalar's so often did. She felt the same warm glow of affection for him that she had the first time she noticed that likeness.

"As most of you may know already," Joharran continued, "the brother who started out with Jondalar will not return. Thonolan walks the next world now. The Mother called a favorite back to Her." He looked down at his feet for a moment.

There was that reference again, Ayla thought. It was not necessarily considered lucky to have too many talents, too many Gifts, to be loved so much that one was considered favored of the Mother. She sometimes missed Her favorites and called them back to Her early, when they were still young.

"But Jondalar did not return alone," Joharran continued, then he smiled at Ayla. "I don't think many people would be surprised to learn that my brother met a woman on his Journey." There was a titter of laughter andif everyone decided to include all their names and ties." Joharran smiled again and many people responded with nods and knowing looks. "And our guest would never remember everyone, so we decided to introduce our visitor to all of you, and let each of you introduce yourselves as you have the opportunity."

Joharran turned and smiled at the woman standing on the raised stone with him, but then he looked at the tall blond man and his expression be- came more serious. "Jondalar of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii, Master Flint-Knapper; Son of Marthona, former Leader of the Ninth Cave; born to the Hearth of Dalanar, Leader and Founder of the Lanzadonii; Brother of Joharran, Leader of the Ninth Cave, has returned after five years from a long and difficult Journey. He has brought with him a woman from a land so distant, it took a full year just to make the Journey back."

The leader of the Ninth Cave took both of Ayla's hands in his. "In the name of Doni, the Great Earth Mother, I present to all the Zelandonii, 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 Spirit of the Cave Bear," then he smiled, "and as we have seen, Friend of horsesJoharran dropped one of Ayla's hands, but, holding up the other, faced out toward the assembled Caves. "Please welcome this woman who trav- eled so far with Jondalar, welcome her to this land of the Zelandonii, the Great Mother Earth's Children. Show this woman the hospitality and re- spect with which the Zelandonii honor all their guests, especially one of the Blessed of Doni. Let her know we value our visitors."

There were sidelong glances in the direction of Marona and her friends.

The joke wasn't at all funny anymore. It was their turn to feel embarrassed, and Portula, at least, turned crimson when she looked up at the foreign woman standing on the Speaking Stone wearing a Zelandonii boy's under- wear and puberty belt. She hadn't known the clothing she was given was inappropriate. It didn't matter. The way she wore it made it entirely proper.

Then Ayla, feeling a need to do something, took a small step forward.

"In the name of Mut, Great Mother of All, whom you know as Doni, I greet you Zelandonii, Children of this beautiful land, Children of the Great Earth Mother, and thank you for welcoming me.

I thank you, too, for accepting my animal friends into your midst; for al- lowing Wolf to stay with me inside a dwelling." Wolf looked up at her at thesuch a perfect horse's whinny that for a moment, they thought it was a horse. It was not the first time she had surprised people with her ability to imitate the sound of an animal-a horse was not the only animal she could mimic.

Ayla had no memory of the language she had known as a child; she could not remember anything about her life before the Clan, except a few vague dreams and a mortal fear of earthquakes. But Ayla's kind had an inherent compulsion, a genetic drive nearly as strong as hunger, for verbal speech. When she was living alone in the valley after she left the Clan and before she had learned to speak again from Jondalar, she developed ver- balizations for herself to which she attributed meaning, a language only she, and Whinney and Racer to some extent, could understand.

Ayla had a natural aptitude for reproducing sounds, but having no verbal language and living alone, hearing only the sounds made by animals, she began to mimic them. The personal language she devised was a combina- tion of the baby sounds her son had begun to make before she was forced to leave him, the few words spoken by the Clan, and onomatopoeic mim- icking of the sounds made by animals, including bird whistles. Time andture of humor. The initial shock gave way to smiles and chuckles as they relaxed.

Ayla, who had been a bit apprehensive at their first reaction, noticed the easing of tension and relaxed in turn. When they smiled at her, she could not help but smile back, one of her glorious, beautiful smiles that seemed to make her glow.

"Jondalar, with a filly like that, how are you going to keep the young stallions away?" a voice called out. It was the first open acknowledgment of her beauty and appeal.

The yellow-haired man smiled. "I'll have to take her out riding often, keep her busy," he said. "You know that I learned how to ride while I was gone, don't you?"

"Jondalar, you knew how to 'ride' before you left!"

There was a burst of laughter; this time, Ayla realized, the laughter was meant in fun.ryone's appetite, and a number of people had been busy with last minute preparations before Joharran began to speak. After the introductions, as the throng pressed toward the far end, Jondalar and Ayla were urged ahead, although the crowd was careful to allow space around the wolf, who followed a step behind the woman.

The food was attractively arranged on platters and in bowls of shaped bone, woven grass and fiber, and carved wood and displayed on long, low tables made of blocks and slabs of limestone. Bent wood tongs, carved horn spoons, and large flint knives were conveniently nearby, ready to be used as serving implements. Most people brought their own eating dishes, though there were extras for those who needed them.

Ayla stopped to admire the display for a moment. There were whole roasted haunches of young reindeer, plump grouse, platters of trout and pike, and, even more prized during the early summer season, servings of still scarce vegetables: young roots, fresh greens, new shoots, and tightly coiled young ferns. Edible sweet milkweed flowers added a pleasing deco- ration to many of the dishes. There were also nuts and dried fruits from the previous autumn's harvest, and containers of rich broth with chunks of re- constituted dried aurochs meat, roots, and mushrooms.large number of unusually convenient and serviceable natural shelters, encouraged the growing population of several Caves.

The home of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii was a high limestone cliff whose face was carved by weather and wear into an enormous, over- hanging shelf that went from slightly south of due east to almost southwest in a long, shallow, south-facing curve that followed The River. The jutting overhang sheltered an area six hundred fifty feet in length and almost one hundred fifty feet in depth, offering nearly one hundred thousand square feet of covered living space. The stone floor of the abri beneath, layered with centuries of packed dirt and stone rubble, extended as a terrace or front porch somewhat beyond the edge of the huge rock ledge.

With so much space available, the members of the Ninth Cave did not fill up the entire protected area with living structures. No one made a pur- poseful decision to do so, but perhaps intuitively to lay claim and declare boundaries distinct from the adjacent area where the craftspeople of the vicinity tended to congregate, the residential dwellings of the Ninth Cave were clustered at the eastern end of the abri. Since they had plenty of room to spread out, the site immediately to the west of the dwellings was used for the community workplaces. Southwest of that, and continuing towardknow it, and their descendants wouldn't even think in such terms for many millennia, the location of the land of the Zelandonii was halfway between the North Pole and the equator. They didn't need to know it to understand the benefits of their middle-latitude position. They had lived there for many generations and had learned from experience, passed down through ex- ample and lore, that the territory had advantages in all seasons, if one knew how to utilize them.

In summer, people tended to travel around the larger region that they thought of as Zelandonii land, usually living in the open in tents or lodges constructed of natural materials, especially when gathering together into larger groups and often when visiting or hunting or harvesting quantities of vegetable produce. But when they could, they were always happy to find a south-facing stone shelter to use temporarily, or to share the shelters of friends and kin, because of their distinct advantages.