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Ayla smiled and put the young wolf down in the basket. He immediately jumped out and then down to the floor, sat down and scratched himself, then scampered toward his feeding dish. Ayla began to fold up the white tunic to put it away. She rubbed the soft white leather and the white ermine fur, and straightened the little tails with the black tips, feeling her stomach tighten and a lump form in her throat. Her eyes stung from tears she fought to control. No, it wasn’t the same, she thought. How could it be the same?
“Ayla, you know how much I want you, how much I care about you,” Ranec said, standing behind her. “Don’t you?”
“I think so,” she said, not turning, but closing her eyes.
“I love you, Ayla. I know you feel unsettled right now, but I want you to know. I loved you the first moment I saw you. I want to share my hearth with you, to make a joining with you. I want to make you happy. I know you need time to think about it. I’m not asking you to make a decision, but tell me you’ll think about … letting me try to make you happy. Will you? Think about it?”
Ayla looked down at the white tunic in her hands, and her mind whirled. Why doesn’t Jondalar want to sleep with me any more? Why did he stop touching me, stop sharing Pleasures with me, even when he was sleeping with me? Everything changed after I became Mamutoi. Didn’t he want me to be adopted? If he didn’t, why didn’t he say so? Maybe he did want it; he said he did. I thought he loved me. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he doesn’t love me any more. He never did ask me to join. What will I do if Jondalar leaves without me? The knot in her stomach felt as hard as a rock. Ranec cares for me, and he wants me to care about him. He is nice, and funny, he always makes me laugh … and he loves me. But I don’t love him. I wish I could love him … maybe I should try.
“Yes, Ranec, I’ll think about it,” she said softly, but her throat tightened and ached as she spoke.
Jondalar watched Ranec leave the Mammoth Hearth. The tall man had become a watcher, though he felt embarrassed about it. It wasn’t appropriate behavior, either in this society or his own, for adults to stare or concern themselves unduly with the ordinary activities of another person, and Jondalar had always been especially sensitive to social conventions. It bothered him to appear so callow, but he couldn’t help it. He tried to hide it, but he watched Ayla and the Mammoth Hearth constantly.
The carver’s jaunty step and delighted smile as he returned to the Fox Hearth filled the tall visitor with dread. He knew it had to be something Ayla had said or done that caused the Mamutoi man such elation, and with his morbid imagination, he feared the worst.
Jondalar knew Ranec had become a constant visitor since he left the Mammoth Hearth, and he berated himself for creating the opportunity. He wished he could take back his words and the whole silly argument, but he was convinced it was too late to make amends. He felt helpless but, in a way, it was a relief to have some distance between them.
Though he didn’t admit it to himself, his actions were motivated by more than a simple desire to allow her to choose the man she wanted. He had been hurt so deeply part of him wanted to strike back; if she could reject him, he could reject her. But he also had a need to give himself a choice, to see if it was possible to get over his love for her. He sincerely wondered if it wouldn’t be better for her to stay here, where she was accepted and loved, than to return with him to his people, and he feared what his own reaction would be if his people rejected her. Would he be willing to share an outcast life with her? Would he be willing to move away, leave his people again, especially after making such a long Journey to return? Or would he reject her, too?
If she chose someone else to love, then he’d be forced to leave her behind, and he would not be faced with such a decision. But the thought of her loving someone else filled him with such stomach-wrenching, breath-suffocating, throat-clenching, unbearable pain, he didn’t know if he could survive—or if he wanted to. The more he fought with himself not to show his love, the more possessive and jealous he became, and the more he hated himself for it.
The turmoil of trying to sort out his powerful mixed emotions was taking its toll. He couldn’t eat or sleep, and he was looking gaunt and wasted. His clothes were beginning to hang on his tall frame. He couldn’t concentrate, not even on a beautiful new piece of flint. Sometimes he wondered if he was losing his senses, or possessed by some baneful night spirit. He was so torn with love for Ayla, grief that he was losing her, and fear of what might happen if he didn’t let her go, that he couldn’t bear to stay too close to her. He was afraid he would lose control of himself, and do something he would regret. But he couldn’t stop watching her.
The Lion Camp was forgiving of the minor indiscretion of their visitor. They were aware of his feelings for Ayla in spite of his attempts to hide it. Everyone in the Camp talked about the painful predicament the three young people were in. The solution to their problem seemed so simple to those looking from the outside. Ayla and Jondalar obviously cared for each other, so why didn’t they just tell each other how they felt, and then invite Ranec to share their union? But Nezzie sensed it was not so simple. The wise, motherly woman felt that Jondalar’s love for Ayla was too strong to be held off by the lack of a few words. Something much deeper was coming between them. And she, more than anyone, understood the depth of Ranec’s love for the young woman. She did not believe that this was a situation that could be resolved with a shared union. Ayla would have to make a choice.
As though the idea held some compelling power, ever since Ranec had asked Ayla to think about sharing his hearth, and brought up the painfully obvious fact that she now slept alone, she hadn’t been able to think about anything else. She had clung to the belief that Jondalar would forget their harsh words and return, especially since it seemed that every time she glanced toward the cooking hearth, she caught a glimpse, between the support posts and objects hanging from the ceiling in the intervening hearths, of him as he turned away. It made her think he was still interested enough to be looking in her direction. But each night that she spent alone diminished her hope.
“Think about it …” Ranec’s words repeated themselves in Ayla’s mind, as she crushed dried burdock and sweet fern leaves for a tea for Mamuts arthritis, thinking about the dark, smiling man and wondering if she could learn to love him. But the thought of her life without Jondalar made her stomach ache with a strange emptiness. She added fresh wintergreen and hot water to the bowl of crushed leaves, and brought it to the old man.
She smiled when he thanked her, but she seemed preoccupied, and sad. She had been abstracted all day. Mamut knew she had been upset since Jondalar moved away, and he wished he could help. He had seen Ranec talking to her earlier and he considered trying to talk to her about it, but he believed nothing happened in Ayla’s life without purpose. He was convinced the Mother had created her present difficulties for a reason, and he hesitated to interfere. Whatever trials she and the two young men were undergoing were necessary. He watched her going out to the horse annex, and was aware when she returned sometime later.
Ayla banked the fire, walked back to her bed platform, undressed and prepared for sleep. It was an ordeal facing the night knowing Jondalar would not be sleeping beside her. She busied herself with little tasks to delay settling herself into her furs, knowing she would lie awake half the night. Finally, she picked up the wolf puppy and sat on the edge of the bed, cuddling, stroking, and talking to the warm, loving little animal, until he went to sleep in her arms. Then she put him in his basket, petting him until he settled down again. To make up for Jondalar’s absence, Ayla lavished love on the wolf.
Mamut realized he was awake and opened his eyes. He could barely make out vague shapes in the darkness. The lodge was quiet, the night quiet that was filled only with the slight rustlings, heavy breathing, and low rumbles of sleep. He slowly turned his head toward the faint red glow of the embers in the firepit, trying to discover what had brought him out of his deep sleep to full wakefulness. He heard a strained breath nearby, and a stifled sob, and pushed his covers aside.
“Ayla? Ayla, are you in pain?” Mamut said softly. She felt a warm hand on her arm.
“No,” she said, her voice husky with strain. Her face was turned toward the wall.
“You are crying.”
“I’m sorry I woke you. I should have been more quiet.”
“You were quiet. It wasn’t your noise that woke me, it was your need. The Mother called me to you. You are in pain. You are hurting inside, isn’t that so?”
Ayla took a deep, painful breath, straining to repress the cry that wanted expression. “Yes,” she said. She turned to face him, and he saw tears glistening in the muted light.
“Then cry, Ayla. You should not hold it in. You have reason to be in pain, and you have a right to cry,” Mamut said.
“Oh, Mamut,” she cried in a great heaving sob, then still restraining the sound, but with the relief of his permission, quietly wept her heartbreak and anguish.
“Do not hold back, Ayla. It is good for you to cry,” he said, si
tting on the edge of her bed and patting her gently. “It will all turn out as it should, as it is meant to be. It’s all right, Ayla.”
When she finally stopped, she found a piece of soft leather to wipe her face and nose, then sat up beside the old man. “I feel better, now,” she said.
“It is always best to cry when you feel the need, but it is not over, Ayla.”
