Even Jondalar wondered, for a moment, if Ayla had come back from the next world to save his life, convinced at that moment that if she had wanted to, she could. He watched her unhurried approach, studying every detail of her, carefully and lovingly, wanting to fill up his vision with a sight he had thought he would never see again: the woman he loved, riding the familiar mare. Her face was ruddy with cold and streamers of hair that had escaped the restraining thong at the nape of her neck whipped in the wind. Wispy clouds of warmed air streamed forth with each breath exhaled by both the woman and the horse, making Jondalar suddenly conscious of his exposed flesh and chattering teeth.

She was wearing her carrying belt over her fur parka and, in a loop of it, the dagger made from the tusk of a mammoth that had been a present from Talut. The ivory-handled flint knife he had made for her also dangled in its sheath, and he saw his hatchet in her belt, too. The worn otter skin of her medicine bag hung down her other side.

Riding the horse with easy grace, Ayla seemed dauntingly sure and confident, but Jondalar could see her tense readiness. She held her sling in her right hand, and he knew how swiftly she could let fly from that position. With her left hand, which he was sure held a couple of stones, she supported a spear, set in place on her spear-thrower and balanced diagonally across Whinney's withers from Ayla's right leg to the mare's left shoulder. More spears stuck up from a woven grass holder just behind her leg.

On her approach, Ayla had watched the tall headwoman's face reflecting her inner reactions, showing shock and fear, and the despair of her moment of clarity, but as the woman on horseback drew closer, dark and deranged shadows clouded the leader's mind again. Attaroa narrowed her eyes to watch the blond woman, then slowly smiled, a smile of twisted, calculating malice.

Ayla had never seen madness, but she interpreted Attaroa's unconscious expressions, and she understood that this woman who threatened Jondalar was someone to be wary of; she was a hyena. The woman on horseback had killed many carnivores and knew how unpredictable they could be, but it was only hyenas that she despised. They were her metaphor for the very worst that people could be, and Attaroa was a hyena, a dangerously malignant manifestation of evil who could never be trusted.

Ayla's angry glare was focused on the tall headwoman, though she was careful to keep an eye on the entire group, including the stunned Wolf Women, and it was fortunate that she did. When Whinney was within a few feet of Attaroa, in the periphery of her vision Ayla caught a stealthy movement off to the side. With motions so swift they were hard to follow, a stone was in her sling, whipped around, and flung.

Epadoa squawked with pain and grabbed her arm as her spear clattered to the frozen ground. Ayla could have broken a bone if she had tried, but she had deliberately aimed for the woman's upper arm and checked her force. Even so, the leader of the Wolf Women would have a very painful bruise for some time.

"Tell spear-women stop, Attaroa!" Ayla demanded.

It took Jondalar a moment to comprehend that she was speaking in a strange language because he found that he had understood her meaning. Then he was stunned when he realized that the words she spoke were in S'Armunai! How could Ayla possibly know how to speak S'Armunai? She had never heard it before, had she?

It surprised the headwoman, too, to hear a complete stranger address her by name, but she was more shocked to hear the peculiarity of Ayla's speech that was like the accent of another language, yet not. The voice aroused feelings Attaroa had all but forgotten; a buried memory of a complex of emotions, including fear, which filled her with a disquieting unease. It reinforced her inner conviction that the approaching figure was not simply a woman on a horse.

It had been many years since she'd had those feelings. Attaroa hadn't liked the conditions that first provoked them, and she liked even less being reminded of them now. It made her nervous, agitated, and angry. She wanted to push the memory away. She had to get rid of it, destroy it completely, so it would never come back. But how? She looked up at Ayla sitting on the horse, and at that instant she decided it was the blond woman's fault. She was the one who had brought it all back, the memory, the feelings. If the woman was gone – destroyed – it would all go away and everything would be fine again. With her quick, if twisted, intelligence, Attaroa began to consider how she could destroy the woman. A sly, crafty smile spread across her face.

"Well, it seems the Zelandonii was telling the truth after all," she said. "You came just in time. We thought he was trying to steal meat, and we have barely enough for ourselves. Among the S'Armunai, the penalty for stealing is death. He told us some story about riding on horses, but you can understand why we found it so unbelievable…" Attaroa noticed her words were not being translated and stopped. "S'Armuna! You are not speaking my words," she snapped.

S'Armuna had been staring at Ayla. She recalled that one of the first hunters who had returned with the group carrying the man had revealed a frightening vision she'd had during the hunt, wanting her to interpret it. She told of a woman sitting on the back of one of the horses they were driving over the cliff, struggling to gain control of it, and finally making it turn back. When the hunters carrying the second load of meat talked about seeing a woman riding away on a horse, S'Armuna wondered at the meaning of the strange visions.

Many things had been bothering the One Who Served the Mother for some time, but when the man they brought in turned out to be a young man who seemed to have materialized out of her own past, and he told a story of a woman on horseback, it distressed her. It had to be a sign, but she had not been able to discern the meaning. The idea had preyed on S'Armuna's mind while she considered various interpretations of the recurring vision. A woman actually riding into their Camp on the back of a horse gave the sign unprecedented power. It was the manifestation of a vision, and the impact of it put her in a turmoil. She hadn't been giving her full attention to Attaroa, but a part of her had heard and she quickly translated the headwoman's words into Zelandonii.

"Death to a hunter as a punishment for hunting is not the way of the Great Mother of All," Ayla said in Zelandonii when she heard the translation, though she had understood the gist of Attaroa's statement. S'Armunai was so close to Mamutoi that she could understand much of it, and she had learned a few words, but Zelandonii was easier, and she could express herself better. "The Mother charges Her children to share food and offer hospitality to visitors."

It was when she was speaking in Zelandonii that S'Armuna noticed Ayla's speech peculiarity. Though she spoke the language perfectly, there was something… but there was no time to think about it now. Attaroa was waiting.

"That is why we have the penalty," Attaroa smoothly explained, though the anger she was fighting to control was evident to both S'Armuna and Ayla. "It discourages stealing so there will be enough to share. But a woman like you, so good with weapons, how could you understand the way it was for us when no woman could hunt. Food was scarce. We all suffered."

"But the Great Earth Mother provides more than meat for Her children. Certainly the women here know the foods that grow and can be gathered," Ayla said.

"But I had to forbid that! If I had allowed them to spend their time gathering, they would not have learned to hunt."

"Then your scarcity was of your own doing, and the choice of those who went along with you. That is not a reason to kill people who are not aware of your customs," Ayla said. "You have taken on yourself the Mother's right. She calls Her children to Her when She is ready. It is not your place to assume Her authority."