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The area was becoming more familiar to Jondalar, too, with good reason, and when he found a clearly marked trail that he recognized, descending toward a path that led to the outside edge of a cliff face, he knew they weren't far. He could feel the excitement growing inside him. When Ayla found a big thorny briar mound, high in the middle with long prickly runners, and branches weighted down with ripe, juicy blackberries, he felt an edge of irritation that she wanted to delay their arrival just to pick some.
"Jondalar! Stop. Look. Blackberries!" Ayla said, sliding off Whinney and rushing to the briar patch.
"But we're almost there."
"We can bring them some." Her mouth was full. "I haven't had blackberries like this since I left the Clan. Taste them, Jondalar! Have you ever tasted anything so sweet and good?" Her hands and mouth were purple from picking small handfuls and popping them all in her mouth at one time.
Watching her, Jondalar suddenly laughed. "You should see yourself," he said. "You look like a little girl, full of berry stains and all excited." He shook his head and chuckled. She didn't answer. Her mouth was too full.
He picked some, decided that they were very sweet and good, and picked some more. After a few more handfuls, he stopped. "I thought you said we were going to pick some to take to them. We don't even have anything to put them in."
Ayla stopped for a moment, then smiled. "Yes, we do," she said, taking off her sweat-stained, woven conical hat, and looking for some leaves to line it. "Use your hat."
They had each filled a hat nearly three-quarters full when they heard Wolf give a warning growl. They looked up and saw a tall youth, almost a man, who had come along the trail, gaping at them and the wolf who was so near, eyes open wide with fear. Jondalar looked again.
"Darvo? Darvo, is it you? It's me, Jondalar. Jondalar of the Zelandonii," he said, striding toward the lad.
Jondalar was speaking a language Ayla wasn't familiar with, though she heard some words and tones that were reminiscent of Mamutoi. She watched the expression on the young man's face change from fear, to puzzlement, to recognition.
"Jondalar? Jondalar! What are you doing here? I thought you went away and were never coming back," Darvo said.
They rushed toward each other and threw their arms around each other; then the man backed off and looked at him, holding him by the shoulders. "Let me see you! I can't believe how you've grown!" Ayla stared at the young man, drawn to the sight of another person
after not seeing one for so long.
Jondalar hugged him again. Ayla could see the genuine affection they shared, but after the first rush of greeting, Darvo seemed a little embarrassed. Jondalar understood the sudden reticence. Darvo was, after all, nearly a man now. Formal hugs of greeting were one thing, but exuberant displays of unrestrained affection, even for someone who had been like the man of your hearth for a time, were something else. Darvo looked at Ayla. Then he noticed the wolf she was holding back, and his eyes opened wide again. Then he saw the horses standing quietly nearby, with baskets and poles hanging on them, and his eyes opened even wider.
"I think I'd better introduce you to my ... friends," Jondalar said.
"Darvo of the Sharamudoi, this is Ayla of the Mamutoi," Jondalar said.
Ayla recognized the cadence of the formal introduction, and enough of the words. She signaled Wolf to stay then walked toward the boy, with both hands outstretched, palms up.
"I am Darvalo of the Sharamudoi," the young man said, taking her hands, and he said it in the Mamutoi language. "I welcome you, Ayla of the Mamutoi."
"Tholie has taught you well! You are speaking Mamutoi as though you were born to it, Darvo. Or do I say Darvalo now?" Jondalar said.
"I am called Darvalo, now. Darvo is a child's name," the youngster said; then he suddenly flushed. "But you can call me Darvo, if you want. I mean, that's the name you know."
"I think Darvalo is a fine name," Jondalar said. "I'm glad you kept up the lessons with Tholie."
"Dolando thought it would be a good idea. He said I would need the language when we go to trade with the Mamutoi next spring."
"Would you, perhaps, like to meet Wolf, Darvalo?" Ayla said.
The young man knitted his brows in consternation. In his whole life, he never expected to meet a wolf face to face, and he never wanted to. But Jondalar isn't afraid of him, Darvalo thought, and the woman isn't either ... she's kind of a strange woman ... she talks a little strange, too. Not wrong, but not quite like Tholie, either.
"If you reach your hand over here, and let him smell it, it will give Wolf a chance to know you," Ayla said.
Darvalo wasn't sure if he wanted his hand to be so close to the wolf's teeth, but he didn't think there was any way he could back out now. He tentatively reached forward. Wolf sniffed his hand, then unexpectedly he licked it. His tongue was warm and wet, but it certainly didn't hurt. In fact, it was rather nice. The youngster looked at the animal and the woman. She had an arm carelessly, and comfortably, draped around the wolf's neck, and she was petting his head with the other hand. What did it feel like to pet a living wolf on the head, he wondered?
"Would you like to feel his fur?" Ayla asked.
Darvalo looked surprised; then he reached out to touch, but Wolf moved to sniff him and he pulled back.
"Here," Ayla said, taking his hand and putting it firmly on the Wolf's head. "He likes to be scratched, like this," she said, showing him.
Wolf suddenly noticed a flea, or the tentative scratchings reminded him of one. He sat back on his haunch and, with a spasm of rapid motion, scratched behind his ear with his hind leg. Darvalo smiled. He had never seen a wolf in such a funny position, scratching fast and furious.
