THE SHELTERS OF STONE

They were already awake, but not dressed. Ayla had been fighting down a bit of nausea and trying to decide what to wear, not that she had much to choose from. She would have to make herself some clothes. Perhaps she would be able to get a hide or two from their kill today. She looked again at the sleeveless tunic and calf-length leggings, the boys' underwear Marona had given to her, and made a decision. Why not? It was a comfortable outfit, and it would probably be hot later today.

Jondalar watched her put on the clothing Marona had given her, but didn't say anything. It had been given to her, after all. She could use it for anything she wanted. He looked up when he saw his mother coming out of her sleeping place.

"Mother, I hope we didn't wake you," Jondalar said.

"You didn't wake me. I still feel an edge of excitement just before a hunt, even though I haven't gone hunting for years," Marthona said. "I suppose that's why I like to be involved in the planning and the rituals. I'm going to the ceremony, too."

"We both are," Willamar said, stepping out from behind the screen that divided their sleeping room from the rest of dwelling.

"I'm coming, too," Folara said, her sleepy-eyed, tousled head looking around the edge of her screen. She yawned and rubbed her eyes. "I just need a little time to get dressed." Suddenly her eyes opened wide. "Ayla! Are you wearing that?"

Ayla looked down at herself, then stood up straight. "This was given to me as a 'gift,'" she said with a touch of defensive belligerence, "and I intend to wear it. Besides," she added with a smile, "I don't have many clothes, and this is easy to move in. If I tie a cloak or a fur around me, it will be warm in the chill of the morning, but later, when it gets hot, it will be cool and comfortable. It really is a very practical outfit."

There was a moment of awkward silence, then Willamar chuckled. "You know, she's right. I would have never thought of wearing winter underwear as summer hunting clothes, but why not?"

Marthona studied Ayla carefully, then gave her a shrewd smile. "If Ayla wears that outfit," she said, "people will talk. Older women will disapprove, but under the circumstances, some will feel she's justified, and by this time next year, half the young women will be wearing the same thing."

Jondalar visibly relaxed. "Do you really think so, mother?"

He hadn't known what to say when he saw Ayla putting on the clothes. Marona had given them to her for the sole purpose of causing her embarrassment, but it occurred to him that if his mother was right-and Marthona was seldom wrong about such things-it would be Marona who would be not only embarrassed, but not allowed to forget it. Every time she saw someone wear such an outfit, it would remind her that her spiteful trick had not pleased anyone.

Folara was looking dumbfounded, glancing from her mother to Ayla, then back to Marthona again.

"You'd better hurry if you're coming, Folara," the older woman chided. "It will be daylight soon."

Willamar lit a torch from the banked fire in the cooking room while they waited. It was one of several they had prepared after they had walked into a dark dwelling, the night Ayla taught them how to make fire with flint and iron pyrite. When Folara came out, still trying to tie her hair back with a strip of leather, they moved the leather drape aside and slipped out quietly. Ayla bent down to touch Wolf's head, a signal in the dark for him to stay close, as they walked toward several bobbing firelights in the direction of the stone front porch.

Quite a number of people were already congregated on the front ledge when the residents of Marthona's dwelling, including the wolf, appeared. Some were holding stone oil lamps, which shed just enough light in the dark for them to find their way but burned for some time; others held torches, which gave more light but burned out faster.

They waited a while longer until a few more people joined them, then the whole group started toward the south end of the abri. It was difficult to distinguish individuals or even see where they were going when they started out. The torches carried by some lighted the space around them, but made everything beyond the glow of the light seem blacker.

Ayla kept her hand on Jondalar's arm as they walked along the stone ledge, past the uninhabited section of the Ninth Cave's cliff overhang to the gully that separated the Ninth Cave from Down River. The small creek that ran through the trench-the runoff of the fresh spring welling up out of the back wall-was a handy source of water for the craftspeople when they were working, and during bad weather an extra source for the Ninth Cave as well.