"I thought you said the people of the Clan and the Others are very much alike," Jondalar said.

"They are. But in some ways, they are more different than you can imagine. Even I can't imagine it, and I was one of them, for a while," Ayla said. "Are you ready to talk to him now?"

"I think so," he said.

The tall, blond man walked toward the powerful, stocky man who was still sitting on the ground, with his thigh bent at an unnatural angle. Ayla followed. Jondalar lowered himself to sit in front of the man, glancing at Ayla, who nodded approval.

He had never been so close to an adult flathead male before, and his first thought was a memory of Rydag. Looking at this man, it was even more obvious that the boy had not been full Clan. As Jondalar recalled the strange, bright, sickly child, he realized that Rydag's features had been greatly modified in comparison – softened was the word that came to him. This man's face was large, both long and wide, and jutted out somewhat, led by a sizable, protruding, sharp nose. His fine-haired beard, which showed signs of having been recently trimmed to a uniform length, did not entirely succeed in hiding a rather receding jaw, with no chin.

His facial hair blended into a mass of thick, softly curled, light brown hair covering a huge, long head, that was full and rounded at the back. But the man's heavy brow ridges took up most of his forehead, which sloped back into a hairline that started low. Jondalar had to restrain an urge to reach up and touch his own sharply rising high forehead and domed head. He could understand why they were called flatheads. It was as if someone had taken a head that was shaped like his, but somewhat larger, and made of material as malleable as wet clay, then reshaped it by pushing down and flattening his forehead, forcing the bulk of the size toward the back.

The man's heavy brows were accentuated by bushy eyebrows, and his gold-flecked, almost hazel eyes showed curiosity, intelligence, and an undercurrent of pain. Jondalar could understand why Ayla wanted to help him.

Jondalar felt clumsy making the gesture for greeting; but he was heartened by the look of surprise on the face of the man of the Clan, who returned the gesture. Jondalar wasn't sure what to do next. He thought about what he would do if he were meeting any stranger from another Cave or Camp, and he tried to remember the signs he had learned to make with Rydag.

He gestured, "This man is called…" then spoke his name and primary affiliation, "Jondalar of the Zelandonii."

It was too melodic, too full of syllables, too much for the man of the Clan to hear all at once. He shook his head, as if trying to unplug his ear, inclined his head, as though it would help him to listen better, then tapped Jondalar's chest.

It wasn't hard to understand what he meant, Jondalar thought. He made the signs again for "This man is called…" then spoke his name, but only his given name, and more slowly, "Jondalar."

The man closed his eyes, concentrating, then opened them and, taking a breath, spoke out loud, "Dyondar."

Jondalar smiled, and nodded yes. There was a deep-voiced, not fully articulated quality to the word, and a sense of swallowing the vowels, but it was close enough. And strangely familiar. Then it came to him! Of course! Ayla! Her words still had that same quality, though not nearly as strong. That was her unusual accent. No wonder no one could identify it. She had a Clan accent, and no one knew they could talk!

Ayla was surprised at how well the man had said Jondalar's name. She doubted if she had said it that well the first time she tried, and she wondered if this man had had contact with Others before. If he had been chosen to represent his people, or make some form of contact with the ones known as the Others, it would be an indication of high status. All the more reason, she understood, for him to be wary of kinship bonds with Others, especially Others of unknown status. He would not want to devalue his own status, but an obligation was an obligation, and whether he or his mate was ready to admit it, they still needed help. Somehow she had to convince him that they were Others who understood the significance and were worthy of the association.

The man facing Jondalar slapped his chest once, then leaned forward slightly. "Guban," he said.

Jondalar had as much trouble repeating his name as Guban had had with "Jondalar," and Guban was as generous in accepting the tall man's mispronunciation as Jondalar had been of his.

Ayla felt relieved. An exchange of names wasn't much, but it was a start. She glanced at the woman, still startled to see hair coloring lighter than her own on a woman of the Clan. Her head was covered with a fluff of soft curls, so light that it was almost white, but she was young and very attractive. Probably a second woman at his hearth. Guban was a man in his prime, and this woman was probably from a different clan, and quite a prize.

The woman looked at Ayla, then away quickly. Ayla wondered. She had seen worry and fear in the woman's eyes and looked more closely, but with as much subtlety as the young Clan woman had used. Was there a thickening at the waist? Did her wrap fit a little tight across her breasts? She's pregnant! No wonder she's worried. A man with a badly healed broken leg would no longer be in his prime. And while this man might have high status, he no doubt had heavy responsibilities as well. Somehow, Ayla thought, she had to convince Guban to let her help him.

The two men had been sitting watching each other. Jondalar was not sure what to do next, and Guban was waiting to see what he would do. Finally, in desperation, he turned to her.

"This woman is Ayla," he said, using his simple signs and then speaking her name.

At first Ayla thought he might have committed a social blunder, but seeing Guban's reaction, decided perhaps not. Introducing her so quickly was an indication of the high esteem in which she was held, appropriate for a medicine woman. Then, as he continued, she wondered if he had seen into her thoughts.

"Ayla is healer. Very good healer. Good medicine. Want help Guban."

To the man of the Clan, Jondalar's signs were hardly more than baby talk. There were no nuances to his meaning, no suggestive shadings, no degrees of complexity, but his sincerity was clear. It was a surprise in itself to discover a man of the Others who could speak properly at all. Most of them chattered, or muttered, or growled like animals. They were like children in their excessive use of sound, but then, the Others weren't considered very bright.

The woman, on the other hand, had a surprising depth of understanding with a fine grasp of nuance; and a clear and expressive ability to communicate. With inconspicuous finesse, she had translated some of Dyondar's subtler meanings, easing their communication without embarrassment to anyone. As difficult as it was to believe that she had been raised by a clan and had traveled such a great distance, she was so adept at speaking that one could almost believe she was Clan.

Guban had never heard of the clan of whom the woman spoke, and he knew many, but the common language she had used was quite unfamiliar. Even the language of the clan of his yellow-hair was not as strange, yet this woman of the Others knew the ancient sacred signs and could use them with great skill and precision. Rare for a woman. There was a suggestion that she might be withholding something, though he couldn't be certain. She was, after all, a woman of the Others, and he wouldn't ask in any case. Women, especially medicine women, liked to keep a few things to themselves.

The pain of his broken leg throbbed and threatened to escape his control, and he had to focus on holding it in for a time.

But how could she be a medicine woman? She wasn't Clan. She had no memories for it. Dyondar claimed she was a healer, and he spoke of her skill with great conviction… and his leg was broken – Guban flinched inwardly, then gritted his teeth. Perhaps she was a healer; the Others had to have them, too, but that didn't make her a medicine woman of the Clan. His obligation was already so great. A kinship debt to this man would be bad enough, but to a woman, and a woman who used a weapon?