"Hurry up, Danasi! How much more help do you need? This one's struggling."

"Maybe he needs help finding it."

"He just doesn't know what to do with it."

"Then give someone else a chance."

Ayla caught a glimpse of blond hair and, with an angry feeling of disgust, she realized that they were holding down a woman and she knew what they were trying to do. As she ran toward them, she had another insight. Perhaps it was the shape of a leg or an arm, or the sound of a voice, but suddenly she knew it was a Clan woman – a blond Clan woman! She was stunned, but only for a moment.

Wolf was growling, eager, but watching Ayla and holding back.

"It must be Charoli's band!" Jondalar said, coming up behind her.

He dropped off his hunting pack with his spear holder, and in a few long strides he reached the three men who were molesting the woman. He grabbed the one on top by the back of his parka at the scruff of his neck and yanked him off the woman. Then he stepped around and, doubling up his fist, slammed it into the man's face. The man dropped to the ground. The other two gaped in shock, then let go of the woman and turned to attack the stranger. One jumped on his back, while the other threw punches at his face and chest. The big man flung off the one on his back, took a hard blow to his shoulder, and countered with a powerful belt to the stomach of the man in front of him.

The woman rolled over and backed off to get away when the two men went after Jondalar, and she ran toward the other group of struggling men. While one man was doubled over in pain, Jondalar turned to the other. Ayla saw the first one struggling to get up.

"Wolf! Help Jondalar! Get those men!" she said, signaling to the animal.

The big wolf raced eagerly into the fray, while she dropped her pack, loosened the sling from around her head, and reached into her pouch for stones. One man of the three was down again, and she watched another, with terror in his eyes, fling up an arm to fend off the huge wolf that was coming for him. The animal jumped up on his hind legs, sank his teeth into the arm of a heavy winter coat, and ripped off the sleeve, while Jondalar landed a solid punch on the jaw of the third.

Putting a stone in the pocket of her sling, Ayla turned her attention toward the other group of struggling men. One had raised a heavy bone club with two hands and was ready to smash it down. She quickly hurled the stone and watched the man with the club fall to the ground. Another man, who was holding a spear in a threatening stance over someone on the ground, watched his friend fall with a look of incredulity. He shook his head and didn't see the second stone coming but yelled in pain when it hit. The spear dropped to the ground as he grabbed for his injured arm.

Six men had been struggling with the one on the ground, yet having a hard time of it. Her sling had brought two down, and the woman who had been attacked was pummeling a third, to good effect. The man was holding up his arms in defense. Another, who had gotten too close to the man they had been trying to restrain, was jarred by a powerful blow. He staggered back. Ayla had two more stones ready to go. She let fly with one, aimed at a nonvital muscular thigh, giving the downed man – a man of the Clan, as Ayla had guessed – an opening. Though he was sitting, he grabbed the man closest to him, lifted him off the ground, and threw him at another man.

The Clan woman renewed her frenzied attack, finally driving away the man she had been struggling with. Though not accustomed to fighting, women of the Clan were as strong as their men, in proportion to their size. And though she would have preferred to acquiesce rather than fight to defend herself against a man who wanted to use her to relieve his needs, this woman had been moved to fight in defense of her injured mate.

But there was no fight left in any of the young men. One lay unconscious near the leg of the Clan man, a wound on his head oozing blood that matted his dirty blond hair and was swelling into a discolored bruise. Another was rubbing his arm, glowering at the woman who held her sling ready. The others were bruised and battered, one with an eye that was puffing up and closing. The three who had been after the woman were cowering in a huddle on the ground, their clothes in tatters, in fear of a wolf who was standing watch over them with fangs bared and a mean snarl in his throat.

Jondalar, who had also taken a share of punishment but didn't seem to notice, walked over to make sure Ayla was unharmed, then looked closely at the man on the ground and was suddenly struck by the fact that it was a man of the Clan. He had known it when they first came upon the scene, but it hadn't made an impression until that moment. He wondered why the man was still down. He pulled the unconscious man away from him, and rolled him over; he was breathing. And then he saw why the man of the Clan did not get up.

The reason was immediately apparent. The thigh of his right leg, just above the knee, was bent at an unnatural angle. Jondalar looked at the man with awe. With a broken leg, he had been holding off six men! He knew flatheads were strong, but he hadn't realized how strong, or how determined. The man had to be in great pain, but he was not showing it.

Suddenly another man, who had not been involved in any of the struggles, swaggered into view. He looked around at the battered band and raised an eyebrow. All the young men seemed to squirm with discomfort under his disdain. They didn't know how to explain what had happened. One moment they were in the midst of roughing up and making sport with the two flatheads unfortunate enough to have crossed their path, and the next they were at the mercy of a woman who could sling rocks, hard, a big man with fists as hard as rocks, and the biggest wolf they had ever seen! Not to mention the two flatheads.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Your men have finally gotten a little back," Ayla said. "It will be your turn next."

The woman was a total stranger. How did she know this was his band, or anything else about them? She spoke in his language, but with a strange accent, and he wondered who she was. The woman of the Clan turned her head at the sound of Ayla's voice and studied her closely, though it was not apparent to anyone else. The man with the bump on his head was waking up, and Ayla went to see how badly he was hurt.

"Get away from him," the man said, but the bravado was belied by the fear she detected in his voice.

Ayla paused, frankly appraised the man, and realized his objection was for the benefit of the band of men, not because he particularly cared about the one who was wounded.

She continued her examination. "He'll have a headache for a few days, but he'll be fine. If I had seriously meant to harm him, I would not have held back. He would be dead, Charoli."

"How do you know my name?" the young man blurted out, frightened but trying not to show it. How did this stranger know who he was?

Ayla shrugged. "We know more than your name."

She glanced in the direction of the man and woman of the Clan. To most of the people there, they seemed impassive, but Ayla could see their shock and uneasiness in the subtle shadings of expression and posture. They were warily watching the people of the Others, trying to make sense out of the strange turn of events.

For the time being, the man thought, they seemed to be in no danger of further attack, but that big man, why had he helped them… or seemed to help them. Why would a man of the Others fight men of his kind to help them? And what about the woman? If she was a woman. She used a weapon, one he understood, better than most men he knew. What kind of woman used a weapon? Against men of her own kind?

Even more disquieting was the wolf, an animal that seemed to be threatening those men that had been hurting his woman… his own very special new woman. Perhaps the tall man had a Wolf Totem, but totems were spirits, and that was a real wolf. All he could do was wait. Hold the pain inside himself and wait.