It was evident that the horses had crossed, but it was getting too dark to see the hoofprints and they decided to camp beside the river. The question was, which side? If they crossed now, their wet clothes would probably dry before morning, but Ayla was afraid Wolf would not be able to find them if they crossed the water before he caught up with them. They decided to wait for him and set up their camp where they were.

With their minimal gear, the camp felt bare and depressing. They hadn't seen any more than tracks the whole day. Ayla was beginning to worry that they might be following the wrong herd, and she was worried about Wolf. Jondalar tried to ease her anxieties, but when Wolf hadn't appeared by the time the night sky was filled with stars, her concern for him grew. She waited up quite late, but when Jondalar finally convinced her to join him in their sleeping furs, she still couldn't go to sleep, though she was tired. She had almost dozed off when she felt a cold wet nose nuzzle her.

"Wolf! You made it! You're here! Jondalar, look! Wolf is here," Ayla cried, feeling him wince under her hugs. Jondalar felt relieved and glad to see him, too, though he told himself his happiness was mostly for Ayla's sake. At least she might get some sleep. But first she got up to give the animal the share she had saved for him of their meal, a stew made of dried meat, roots, and a cake of traveling food.

Earlier, she had mixed dried willowbark tea into a bowl of water she had put aside for him, and he was thirsty enough to lap it up, pain-killing medication and all. He curled up beside their sleeping roll and Ayla fell asleep with one arm around him, while Jondalar cuddled close and put an arm around her. In the freezing cold but clear night, they slept in their clothes, except for their boots and fur outer garments, and they didn't bother with setting up the low tent.

Ayla thought Wolf seemed better in the morning, but she took more willowbark out of her otter-skin medicine bag and added a cup of the decoction to his food. They all had to face crossing the cold river, and she wasn't sure how it would affect the animal's injury. It might chill him too much, but on the other hand, the cold water might actually relieve the healing wound, and the internal bruising.

But the young woman wasn't any too eager to get her clothing wet. It wasn't the dousing of cold water so much – she had often bathed in colder water – it was the idea of wearing wet trousers and footwear in the near-freezing air. When she started to wrap the upper leather of her high-topped moccasinlike boots around her calf, she suddenly changed her mind.

"I'm not going to wear these into the water," she declared. "I'd rather go barefoot and get my feet wet. At least I'd have dry footwear to put on when we get across."

"That may not be a bad idea," Jondalar said.

"In fact, I'm not even going to wear these," Ayla said, pulling off her trousers and standing there bare from her tunic down – which made Jondalar smile and want to do something else besides chase horses. But he knew Ayla was too concerned about Whinney to think about dallying.

As funny as it might look, he had to admit it was an intelligent thought. The river wasn't exceptionally large, though it did look swift. They could cross the water riding double on Racer, with bare legs and feet, then put dry clothes on when they reached the other side. It would not only be more comfortable, it would keep them from a prolonged chill.

"I think you're right, Ayla. It's better not to get these wet," he said, pulling off his leg-coverings.

Jondalar put on the backpack, and Ayla held the sleeping roll, just to make sure it wouldn't get wet. The man felt a little silly getting up on the horse with his lower half bare, but feeling Ayla's skin between his legs made him forget it. The obvious result of his thoughts was not lost on her. If she hadn't been so filled with her need to hurry, she, too, could have been tempted to stay a little longer. In the back of her mind she thought that some other time they might ride double again, just for fun, but this was not the time for fun.

The water was icy cold when the brown stallion entered the stream, breaking through the crust of ice near the edge. Though the river was swift, and soon deep enough to wet their legs to midway up their thighs, the horse did not lose his footing; it was not so deep that he had to swim. Racer's two riders tried to curl their legs out of the water at first, but soon felt numbed to the cold river. About halfway across, Ayla turned around to look for Wolf. He was still on the bank, pacing back and forth, avoiding the initial plunge, as he often did. Ayla whistled to encourage him on, and she saw him finally jump in.

They reached the opposite shore without incident, except for feeling cold. The chill wind blowing on their wet legs when they dismounted didn't help. After pushing most of the water off with their hands, they hurried to put on their pants and moccasin-boots, with liners of downy chamois wool felted together – a departing gift from the Sharamudoi, for which they were more than grateful at that moment. Their legs and feet tingled with the returning warmth. When Wolf reached the shore, he climbed on the bank and shook himself. Ayla checked him over to satisfy herself that he was none the worse for the cold swim.

They located the trail easily and remounted the young stallion. Wolf again tried to keep up, but he soon lagged behind. Ayla worriedly watched him falling farther and farther back. That he had found them the night before eased her fears a little, and she consoled herself with the knowledge that he had often run off hunting or exploring on his own and had always caught up with them again. She hated to leave him behind, but they had to find Whinney.

It was midafternoon before they finally caught sight of horses in the distance. As they drew nearer, Ayla strained to find her friend amidst the others. She thought she caught a glimpse of a familiar hay-colored coat, but she couldn't be sure. There were too many other horses with coats that were similar, and when the wind carried their scent to the herd, they raced away.

"Those horses have been hunted before," Jondalar remarked. But he was glad that he caught himself in time before he voiced his next thought out loud: There must be people in this region who like horse-meat. He didn't want to upset Ayla even more. The herd soon outdistanced a young stallion that was carrying two passengers, but they continued to follow the trail. It was all they could do for now.

The herd turned south, for some reason only they knew, heading back toward the Great Mother River. Before long, the ground began to slope up. The land became rugged and rocky, and the grass more sparse. They continued until they came to a broad field high above the rest of the landscape. When they caught sight of water sparkling below, they realized they were on a plateau on top of the prominence they had skirted around the base of a few days before. The river they had crossed hugged its western face before joining the Mother.

As the herd started to graze, they moved in closer.

"There she is, Jondalar!" Ayla said with excitement, pointing to a particular animal.

"How can you be sure? Several of those horses have a similar color."

Though her coloration was similar to others, the woman knew the particular conformation of her friend too well to doubt it. She whistled and Whinney looked up. "I told you. It is her!"

She whistled again, and Whinney started toward her. But the lead mare, a large, graceful animal with a darker than usual, grayish-gold coat, saw the newest addition to the herd moving away from the fold and moved in to head her off. The herd stallion joined in to help. He was a big, stunning, cream-colored horse with a high-standing silver mane, a gray stripe down his back, and a flowing silvery tail that looked almost white when he swished it. His lower legs were silver-gray, too. He nipped at Whinney's hocks and herded her toward the rest of the females, who were watching with nervous interest; then he cantered back to challenge the younger stallion. He pawed the ground, then reared and neighed, daring Racer to fight.