THE SHELTERS OF STONE

They continued along a trail that turned northeast across the elevated field to the edge of a steep cliff that overlooked The River, which was now flowing almost precisely from north to south as it washed against the wall of limestone below. On relatively level ground the path crossed over a small stream, then took a northwestern turn. The creek continued to the edge and dropped down the face of the scarp. They drew to a halt when the trail began a gradual descent down the other side and turned back. On the way back they urged the horses to a gallop and raced across the high open field until the animals slowed of their own accord. When they came to the small stream again, they stopped to let the horses water, along with Wolf, and got down to get a drink themselves.

Ayla had not felt so wonderfully free riding the horse since she first climbed on the back of the mare. There were no encumbrances, no travois or traveling packs, not a saddle blanket or even a halter. Just her bare legs against the horse's back, the way she had originally learned to ride, transmitting signals to Whinney's sensitive skin-unconsciously at first-to guide the animal in the direction she wanted to go.

Racer had a rope halter; it was the way Jondalar had trained the stallion, though he'd had to invent both the device to hold the stallion's head and the signals to tell the horse where he wanted to go. He also felt free in a way that he hadn't for a long time. It had been a long Journey, and the responsibility of getting them home safely had weighed heavily on him. That weight was gone, along with his traveling packs, and riding the horse was nothing short of fun. They both felt exhilarated, excited, unaccountably pleased with themselves, and they showed it with their delighted smiles as they walked along the stream a few paces.

"That was a good idea, Ayla, going for a ride," Jondalar said, grinning at her.

"I think so, too," she said, smiling back the way that he always loved.

"Oh, woman, you are so beautiful," he said, putting his arms around her waist and looking down at her with his intensely blue and vibrant eyes showing all his love and happiness. The only place she had ever seen a color to match his eyes was on top of a glacier in the deep wells of meltwater.

"You are beautiful, Jondalar. I know you say that men are not called beautiful, but you are to me, you know." She put her arms around his neck, feeling the full force of the natural charisma that few could resist.

"You can call me anything you want," he said as he bent down to kiss her, and suddenly hoped it would not stop there. They had grown accustomed to their privacy, to being alone in the middle of the open landscape, away from curious eyes. He was going to have to get used to being around so many people again… but not just now.

His tongue gently prodded her mouth open, then reached for the softness and warmth inside. She explored his in return, closing her eyes to let herself feel the sensations he was already beginning to arouse. He held her close, enjoying the feel of her body next to his. And soon, he was thinking, they would have the ceremony to join together and form a hearth to which she would bring her children, the children of his hearth, perhaps the children of his spirit, and, if she was right, even more than that. They might even be his children, the children of his body, started with his essence. The same essence he could feel rising in him now.

He pulled back and looked at her, then with more urgency kissed her neck, tasted the salt on her skin, and reached for her breast. It was fuller, he could feel the difference already; soon it would be full of milk. He untied the belt around her waist, reached inside to hold the firm round weight, and felt the hard erect nipple in his palm.

He lifted her top and she helped him pull it off, and then she stepped out of her short pants. For a moment, he just looked at her standing in the sun, and filled his eyes with the womanliness of her: the beauty of her smiling face, the firm muscularity of her body, the large, high breasts and proud nipples, the slight rounding of her stomach, the dark blond hair of her mound. He loved her so much, wanted her so much, tears came to his eyes…

Quickly, he unfastened his own clothing and laid them out on the grass. She took a few paces toward him, and when he stood up, she reached for him as he enfolded her in his arms. She closed her eyes as he kissed her mouth, and her neck and throat, and when he filled his hands with her breasts, she filled hers with his rearing manhood. He dropped to his knees, tasting the salt of the skin of her neck and running his tongue from her throat to her cleavage, holding both breasts, and then as she bent over slightly, he took a nipple in his mouth.