Ayla opened her arms and reached for him. Quick to realize that he had acted correctly and was forgiven for his transgression, he rushed to her with joy. She hugged him, burying her face in his fur, while tears of relief ran from her eyes.

"Wolf, you saved my life," she sobbed. He licked her, staining her face with Attaroa's warm, wet blood that was still on his muzzle.

The people of the Camp backed away from the scene, staring open-mouthed with incomprehension and wonder at the blond woman who was holding in her arms a large wolf that had just killed another woman in a furious assault. She had addressed the animal with the Mamutoi word for wolf, but it was similar to their own name for the meat-eating hunter, and they knew she was talking to him, just as though he could understand her, the same way she talked to the horses.

No wonder this stranger had shown no fear of Attaroa. Her magic was so powerful that she could not only make horses do her bidding, she could command wolves! The man had not shown concern either, they realized, when they saw him drop to his knees beside the woman and the wolf. He had even ignored the spears of the Wolf Women, who had also stepped back a few paces and stood gaping. Suddenly they saw a man behind Jondalar, and he had a knife! Where did the knife come from?

"Let me cut these cords for you, Jondalar," Ebulan said, slashing the bindings.

Jondalar glanced around as he felt his hands come free. Other men were mixed through the crowd, and more were coming from the direction of the Holding. "Who let you out?"

"You did," Ebulan said.

"What do you mean? I was tied up."

"But you gave us the knives… and the courage to try," Ebulan said. "Ardemun sneaked up behind the guard at the gate and hit her with his staff. Then we cut the cords that kept the gate closed up. Everyone was watching the fight, and then the wolf came…" His voice trailed off and he shook his head as he watched the woman and the wolf.

Jondalar didn't notice that the man was too overcome to continue. Something else was more important. "Are you all right, Ayla? Did she hurt you?" he said, taking both the woman and the wolf in his arms. The animal turned from licking Ayla to licking him.

"A little scratch on the neck. It's nothing," she said, clinging to the man and the excited wolf, "and I think Wolf was cut, but it doesn't seem to bother him."

"I would never have let you come back here if I'd thought she would try to kill you, Ayla, right here at the feast. But I should have known. I was stupid not to realize how dangerous she was," he said, holding her close.

"No, you're not stupid. It didn't even occur to me that she would try to attack me, and I didn't know how to defend myself. If it hadn't been for Wolf…" They both looked at the animal, full of gratitude.

"I have to admit, there have been times on this Journey when I wanted to leave Wolf behind, Ayla. I thought he was an extra burden, making our travels more difficult. When I found that you had gone to look for him after crossing the Sister, I was so angry. The thought that you had put yourself in jeopardy for this animal upset me."

Jondalar took the wolf's head in both his hands and looked him straight in the eyes. "Wolf, I promise, I will never leave you behind. I would risk my life to save yours, you glorious, furious beast," the man said, roughing his fur and rubbing behind his ears.

Wolf licked Jondalar's neck and face, and with his jaws, he grasped the exposed and trusting throat and jaw of the man, and held it gently, showing his affection. Wolf felt nearly as strongly about Jondalar as he did about Ayla, and he growled contentedly at the attention and approval he was getting from both of his humans.

But the people who were watching made sounds of wonder and awe to see the man expose his vulnerable throat to the animal. They had watched that same wolf grab the throat of Attaroa with those powerful jaws and kill her, and to them Jondalar's action bespoke magic, unimaginable control over the spirits of animals.

Ayla and Jondalar stood up with the wolf between them, while the people watched with some trepidation, not sure what to expect next. Several of them looked toward S'Armuna. She stepped toward the visitors, eying the wolf warily.

"We are finally free of her," she said.

Ayla smiled; she could see the woman's anxiety. "Wolf won't hurt you," she said. "He attacked only to protect me."

S'Armuna noticed that Ayla didn't translate the name of the animal into Zelandonii, and she sensed that the word was used as a personal name for the animal. "It is appropriate that her end should come from a wolf. I knew you were here for a reason. We are no longer clutched in her grip, held by her madness," the woman said. "But what do we do now?" The question was rhetorical, spoken more to herself than to any of the listeners.

Ayla looked down at the still body of the woman who had only moments before been so malevolently, but vibrantly alive, and it made her conscious of how fragile a thing life was. Except for Wolf, it could have been her lying dead on the ground. She shuddered at the thought. "I think someone should take this headwoman away and prepare her for burial." She spoke in Mamutoi so that more people would understand without the need for translation.

"Does she deserve burial? Why not throw her body to the carrion eaters?" It was a male voice that had spoken.

"Who speaks?" Ayla asked.

Jondalar knew the man who stepped forward, somewhat hesitantly. "I am called Olamun."

Ayla nodded in recognition. "You have a right to feel angry, Olamun, but Attaroa was driven to violence by the violence done to her. The evil in her spirit is eager to carry it on, to leave you with a legacy of her violence. Give it up. Don't let your rightful anger make you fall prey to the trap her restless spirit has set. It is time to break the pattern. Attaroa was human. Bury her with the dignity she was not able to find in life, and let her spirit rest."

Jondalar was surprised by her response. It was the kind of answer a Zelandoni might make, wise and restrained.

Olamun nodded with acquiescence. "But who will bury her? Who will prepare her? She has no kin," he said.

"That is the responsibility of the One Who Serves the Mother," S'Armuna said.

"Perhaps with the help of those who followed her in this life," Ayla suggested. The body was obviously too heavy for the older woman to handle alone.

Everyone turned to face Epadoa and the Wolf Women. They seemed to press together as though to draw strength from each other.

"And then follow her to the next world," another male voice said. There were shouts of agreement from the crowd, and a surge toward the women hunters. Epadoa stood her ground, brandishing her spear.

Suddenly one young Wolf Woman stepped away from the others. "I never asked to be a Wolf Woman. I just wanted to learn to hunt so I wouldn't have to be hungry."

Epadoa glared at her, but the young woman looked back defiantly.

"Let Epadoa find out what it's like to be hungry," the male voice said again. "Let her go without food until she reaches the next world. Then her spirit will be hungry, too."

The people surging toward the hunters, and toward Ayla, brought a warning snarl from Wolf. Jondalar quickly knelt to quiet him, but his reaction did have the effect of making the people back away. They looked at the woman and the animal with some trepidation.

Ayla didn't ask who had spoken that time. "Attaroa's spirit still walks among us," Ayla said, "encouraging violence and revenge."

"But Epadoa must pay for the evil she has done." Ayla saw the mother of Cavoa stepping forward. Her young, pregnant daughter stood just behind her, offering moral support.

Jondalar got up and stood beside Ayla. He could not help thinking that the woman had a right to retribution for the death of her son. He looked to S'Armuna. The One Who Served the Mother ought to be answering, he thought, but she, too, was waiting for Ayla to reply.