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“No, Jondalar!” Ayla said, sitting up. “It’s all right. You didn’t hurt me.”
But he wouldn’t hear her. He turned his back, not able to look at her, and covered himself. He could not turn back. He walked away, angry at himself, filled with shame, and remorse. If he couldn’t trust himself not to hurt her, he would have to stay away from her, and make sure she stayed away from him. She is right to choose Ranec, he thought. I don’t deserve her. He heard her get up and go to the horses. Then he heard her walking toward him, and felt her hand on his arm.
“Jondalar, you didn’t …”
He spun around. “Stay away from me!” he snarled, full of guilty anger at himself.
She backed off. What had she done wrong now? “Jondalar …?” she said again, taking a step toward him.
“Stay away from me! Didn’t you hear me? If you don’t stay away from me, I may lose control and force you again!” It came out sounding like a threat.
“You didn’t force me, Jondalar,” she said as he turned and strode off. “You cannot force me. There is no time I am not ready for you.…”
But his thoughts were so full of remorse and self-loathing he didn’t hear her.
He kept walking, back toward the Lion Camp. She watched him go for some time, trying to sort out her confusion. Then she went back for the horses. She took Racer’s lead rope in her hand, and holding on to Whinney’s stand-up mane, mounted
the mare, and quickly caught up to Jondalar.
“You’re not going to walk all the way back, are you?” she said.
He didn’t answer at first, didn’t even turn around to look at her. If she thought he was going to ride double with her again … he thought, as she pulled up along side. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that she was leading the young stallion behind her, and he finally turned to face her.
He looked at her with tenderness and yearning. She seemed more appealing, more desirable, and he loved her more than ever, now that he was sure he’d spoiled it all. She ached to be near him, to tell him how wonderful it had been, how full and complete she felt, how she loved him. But he had been so angry, and she was so confused, she didn’t know what to say.
They stared at each other, wanting each other, drawn to each other, but their silent shout of love went unheard in the roar of misunderstanding, and the clatter of culturally ingrained beliefs.
27
“I think you should ride back on Racer,” Ayla said. “It’s a long way to walk.”
A long way, he thought. How long had he walked from his home? But he nodded, and followed her to a rock beside a small creek. Racer wasn’t used to having riders. It was still better to ease on him gently. The stallion’s ears went back, and he pranced a few skittish steps, but he settled down quickly and followed behind his dam as he had done many times before.
They didn’t speak on the way back, and when they arrived, they were both glad that people were either inside the lodge, or at some distance from it. Neither of them was in a mood for casual conversation. As soon as they stopped, Jondalar dismounted and headed for the front entrance. He turned back just as Ayla was going into the annex, feeling he should say something.
“Uh … Ayla?”
She stopped and looked up.
“I meant it, you know. I’ll never forget this afternoon. The ride, I mean. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, Jondalar. Thank Racer.”
“Yes, well, Racer didn’t do it alone.”
“No, you did it with him.”
He started to say something else, then changed his mind, frowned, looked down, and went in through the front archway.
Ayla stared for a moment at the place he had been, closed her eyes, and struggled to swallow down a sob that threatened to start a flood. When she regained her composure, she went in. Though the horses had drunk from streams along the way, she poured water into their large drinking bowls, then pulled out the soft leather cloths, and started rubbing down Whinney again. Soon she just had her arms around the mare, leaning against her, her forehead pressed on the shaggy neck of her old friend, the only friend she’d had when she lived in the valley. Soon Racer was leaning on her, and she was caught in a vise between the two horses, but the familiar pressure was comforting.
Mamut had seen Jondalar come in the front, and heard Ayla and the horses in the annex. He had the distinct feeling that something was very wrong. When he saw her come into the Mammoth Hearth, her disheveled appearance made him wonder if she had fallen and hurt herself, but it was more than that. Something was troubling her. From the shadows of his platform he watched her. She changed, and he noticed her clothing was torn. Something must have happened. Wolf came racing in, followed by Rydag and Danug, who proudly held up a net bag with several fish in it. Ayla smiled and complimented the fishers, but as soon as they headed for the Lion Hearth to deposit their catch and collect more compliments, she picked up the young wolf and held him in her arms, and rocked back and forth. The old man was worried. He got up and walked over to Ayla’s bed platform.
“I’d like to go over the Clan ritual with the root again,” Mamut said. “Just to make sure we do everything right.”
“What?” she said, her eyes focusing on him. “Oh … if you want, Mamut.” She put Wolf into his basket, but he immediately jumped out and headed for the Lion Hearth and Rydag. He was in no mood to rest.
She had obviously been deep in some thought that was distressing her. She looked as though she had been crying, or was about to. “You said,” he began, trying to get her to talk, and perhaps unburden herself, “Iza told you how to prepare the drink.”
