"In that case, the field of dry grass next to the Camp might be a good place for them. I think they would stay there without being tied. They usually stay close by if we put them where they have something to graze," Jondalar said. "And it would make a big impression on Attaroa and the S'Armunai if we both ride horses into the Camp. If they're like everyone else we've met, the S'Armunai are probably a little afraid of people who can control horses. They all think it has to do with spirits or magical powers or something, but as long as they're afraid, it gives us an edge. With only two of us, we need every advantage we can get."

"That's true," Ayla said, frowning, both because of her concerns for them and the animals, and because she hated the thought of taking advantage of the unfounded fears of the S'Armunai. It made her feel as if she were lying, but their lives were at stake, and very likely the lives of the boys and men in the Holding.

It was a difficult moment for Ayla. She was being required to make a choice between two wrongs, but she was the one who had insisted that they return to help, even though it put their own lives in jeopardy. She had to overcome her ingrained compulsion to be absolutely truthful; she had to choose the lesser wrong, to adapt, if they were to have any chance of saving the boys and men of the Camp, and themselves, from the madness of Attaroa.

"Ayla," Jondalar said. "Ayla?" he repeated, when she had not responded to his question.

"Uh… yes?"

"I said, what about Wolf? Are you going to take him into the Camp, too?"

She paused to think about it. "No, I don't think so. They know about the horses, but they don't know about a wolf. Considering what they like to do with wolves, I don't see any reason why we should give them an opportunity to get too close to him. I'll tell him to stay in hiding. I think he will, if he sees me once in a while."

"Where will he hide? It's mostly open country around the settlement."

Ayla thought for a moment. "Wolf can stay where I was hiding when I watched you, Jondalar. We can go around from here to the uphill side. There are some trees and brush along a small stream leading up to the place. You can wait for me there with the horses; then we can go back around and ride into the Camp from another direction."

No one noticed them entering the field from the fringe of woods, and the first ones who saw the woman and man, each on a separate horse, cantering across the open land toward the settlement, had the feeling that they had simply appeared. By the time they reached Attaroa's large earthlodge, everyone who could had gathered to watch them. Even the men in the Holding were crowded behind the fence watching through the cracks.

Attaroa stood with her hands on her hips and her legs apart, assuming her attitude of command. Though she would never admit it, she was shocked and more than a little concerned to see them, and this time both on horses. The few times that anyone had ever gotten away from her, he had run as far and as fast as he could. No one had ever voluntarily come back. What power did these two possess that they felt confident enough to return? With her underlying fear of reprisal from the Great Mother and Her world of spirits, Attaroa wondered what the reappearance of the enigmatic woman and the tall, handsome man might signify, but her words showed none of her worry.

"So you did decide to come back," she said, looking to S'Armuna to translate.

Jondalar thought the shaman seemed surprised, too, but he sensed her relief. Before she translated Attaroa's words into Zelandonii, she spoke to them directly.

"No matter what she says, I would advise you not to stay in her lodge, son of Marthona. My offer is still open to both of you," she said before repeating Attaroa's comment.

The headwoman eyed S'Armuna, sure she had spoken more words than were necessary to translate. But without knowing the language, she couldn't be sure.

"Why shouldn't we come back, Attaroa? Weren't we invited to a feast in our honor?" Ayla said. "We have brought our contribution of food."

As her words were translated, Ayla threw her leg over and slid down from Whinney's back, then lifted the largest bowl and set it on the ground between Attaroa and S'Armuna. She picked up the basket cover, and the delicious aroma from the huge mound of grains cooked with other foods made everyone stare in wonder as their mouths watered. It was a treat they had seldom enjoyed in recent years, especially in winter. Even Attaroa was momentarily overwhelmed.

"There seems to be enough for everyone," she said.

"That is only for the women and children," Ayla said. Then she took the slightly smaller woven bowl that Jondalar had just brought and put it down beside the first. She lifted the lid and announced, "This is for the men."

A murmuring undercurrent arose from behind the fence, and from the women who had come out of their lodges, but Attaroa was furious. "What do you mean, for the men?"

"Certainly when the leader of a Camp announces a feast in honor of a visitor, it includes all the people? I presumed that you were the leader of the entire Camp, and that I was expected to bring enough for all. You are the leader of everyone, aren't you?"

"Of course I am the leader of everyone," Attaroa sputtered, caught at a loss for words.

"If you aren't ready yet, I think I should take these bowls inside, so they don't freeze," Ayla said, picking up the larger bowl again and turning toward S'Armuna. Jondalar took the other.

Attaroa quickly recovered. "I invited you to stay in my lodge," she said.

"But I'm sure you are busy with preparations," Ayla said, "and I would not want to impose on the leader of this Camp. It is more appropriate for us to stay with the One Who Serves the Mother." S'Armuna translated, then added, "It is the way it is always done."

Ayla turned to go, saying to Jondalar under her breath, "Start walking toward S'Armuna's lodge!"

As Attaroa watched them go with the shaman, a smile of pure evil slowly altered her features, turning a face that could have been beautiful into a hideous, subhuman caricature. They were stupid to come back here, she thought, knowing that their return had given her the opportunity she wanted: her chance to destroy them. But she also knew she would have to catch them off guard. When she thought about it, she was glad to let them go with S'Armuna. It would get them out of the way. She wanted time to think and discuss plans with Epadoa, who had not yet returned.

For the time being, however, she would have to go along with this feast. She signaled one of the women, the one who had a baby girl and was a favorite, and told her to tell the other women to prepare some food for a celebration. "Make enough for everyone," the headwoman said, "including the men in the Holding."

The woman looked surprised, but she nodded and hurried away.

"I would guess you are ready for some hot tea," S'Armuna said, after she showed Ayla and Jondalar to their sleeping places, expecting Attaroa to come charging in any moment. But after they had drunk their tea without being disturbed, she relaxed a little. The longer Ayla and Jondalar were there without the headwoman objecting, the more it was likely they would be allowed to stay.

But as the tension of worrying about Attaroa eased, an uncomfortable silence descended on the three people seated around the hearth. Ayla studied the woman Who Served the Mother, trying not to be too obvious. Her face had a peculiar skew, the left side was much more prominent than the right, and she guessed S'Armuna might even have some pain in the underdeveloped right jaw when she chewed. The woman did nothing to hide the abnormality, wearing her graying, light brown hair with straightforward dignity, pulled back and up in a smooth bun near the top of her head. For some inexplicable reason, Ayla felt drawn to the older woman.