"You're right, I know, but I still love the first snow." After a few more paces, she asked, "Can we make camp soon?"

"It's only a little past noon," Jondalar said, looking puzzled. "Why are you talking about making camp already?"

"I saw some ptarmigan a little while ago. They have started to turn white, but with no snow on the ground, they are easy to see right now. They won't be after it snows, and they always taste so good this time of year, especially the way Creb liked them, but it takes a long time to cook them that way." She was remembering, looking off into the distance. "You have to dig a hole in the ground, line it with rocks, and build a fire in it, then put the birds in, all wrapped in hay, cover them up, and then wait." The words had tumbled out of her mouth so fast, she almost tripped over them. "But it's worth the wait."

"Slow down, Ayla. You're all excited," he said, smiling with amusement and delight. He loved to watch her when she was filled with such enthusiasm. "If you are sure they will be that delicious, then I guess we ought to make an early camp, and go hunt ptarmigan."

"Oh, they will be," she said, looking at Jondalar with a serious expression, "but you've eaten them that way. You know how they taste." Then she noticed his smile and realized he had been playing with her. She pulled her sling out of her waistband. "You make camp, I'll hunt ptarmigan, and if you'll help me dig the hole, I'll even let you taste one," she said, grinning as she urged Whinney on.

"Ayla!" Jondalar called before she got very far. "If you leave me the pole drag, I'll have camp all set up for you, 'Woman Who Hunts.'"

She looked startled. "I didn't know you remembered what Brun named me when he allowed me to hunt," she said, returning and stopping in front of him.

"I may not have your Clan's memories, but I do remember some things, especially about the woman I love," he said, and he watched her full, lovely smile make her even more beautiful. "Besides, if you help me decide where to set up, you'll know where to come back and bring those birds."

"If I didn't see you, I would track you, but I will come and leave the drag. Whinney can't turn very fast with it."

They rode until they saw a likely place to make a camp, near a stream with a level area for the tent, a few trees, and, most important to Ayla, a rocky beach with stones that could be used for her ground oven.

"I might as well help set up camp, since I'm here," Ayla said, dismounting.

"Go hunt your ptarmigan. Just tell me where you want me to start digging a hole," Jondalar said.

Ayla paused, then nodded. The sooner the birds were killed, the sooner she could start cooking them, and they would take some time to cook, and maybe to hunt. She walked over the area and picked a spot that looked right for the ground oven. "Over here," she said, "not too far from these stones." She scanned the beach, deciding that she might as well pick out some nice round stones for her sling while she was there.

She signaled Wolf to come with her and backtracked along their trail, looking for the ptarmigan she had sighted. Once she started looking for the fat birds, she saw several species that resembled them. She was tempted first by the covey of gray partridges she saw pecking at the ripe seeds of ryegrass and einkorn wheat. She identified the surprisingly large number of young by their slightly less defined markings, not by their size. Though the middle-size stocky birds laid as many as twenty eggs in a clutch, they were usually subject to such heavy predation that not many survived to adulthood.

Gray partridges were also flavorful, but Ayla decided she would continue on, keeping their location in mind in case she didn't find the ptarmigan she had a taste for. A flock, several family coveys, of smaller gregarious quails startled her as they took to wing. The rotund little birds were tasty, too, and if she had known how to use a throwing stick that could bring down several at one time, she might have tried for them.

Since she had decided to pass by the others, Ayla was glad to see the usually well camouflaged ptarmigan near the place she had seen them before. Though they still showed some patterning on their backs and wings, their predominantly white feathers made them stand out against the grayish ground and dark gold dry grass. The fat, stocky birds had already grown winter feathers on their legs, extending even to their feet for both warmth and for use as snowshoes. Though quail often traveled longer distances, both partridge and ptarmigan, the grouse that turned white in snow, normally stayed within a general area close to their birthplace, migrating only a short distance between winter and summer ranges.

In the way of that wintry world, which allowed close associations of living things whose habitats would at other times be far apart, each had its niche and both would stay on the central plains through the winter. While the partridge kept to the windblown open grassland, eating seeds and roosting at night in trees near rivers and highlands, the ptarmigan would stay in the drifting snow, burrowing out snow caves to keep warm, and living on twigs, shoots, and buds of brush, often varieties containing strong oils that were distasteful or even poisonous to other animals.

Ayla signaled Wolf to stay while she picked out two stones from her pouch and readied her sling. From Whinney's back, she sighted on one nearly white bird and hurled the first stone. Wolf, understanding her motion as a signal, dashed for another bird at the same time. With a burst of wings and loud squawks of protest, the rest of the covey of heavy birds took to the air, their large flight muscles beating strongly. Their normal camouflaged markings on the ground made a startling change in the air when erect plumage displayed distinct patterns, making it easier for others of their kind to follow and keep together in a flock.

After the impetus of the first surge of activity and sudden flash of feathers, the flight of the ptarmigan eased into a long glide. With a pressure and movement of her body that was second nature, Ayla signaled Whinney to follow the birds, while she prepared to throw a second stone. The young woman grabbed the sling on the downstroke, slid her hand down to the loose end, and, with a smooth practiced action that moved with the motion, she brought it back to her throwing hand and dropped the second stone in the pocket before she let go. Though she sometimes took an extra swing for the first cast, she seldom required the buildup of momentum for her second throw.

Her ability to cast stones so quickly was such a difficult skill that, had she asked, she would have been told it was impossible. But there was no one for her to ask, no one to tell her it couldn't be done, so Ayla had taught herself the double-stone technique. Over the years she had perfected it, and she was very accurate with both stones. The bird she had aimed for on the ground never took flight. As the second bird came falling out of the sky, she quickly grabbed two more stones, but by then the flock was out of reach.

Wolf trotted up with a third in his mouth. Ayla slid off the mare and at her signal the wolf dropped the ptarmigan at her feet. Then he sat down, looking up at her, pleased with himself, a soft white feather clinging to the side of his mouth.

"That was good, Wolf," she said, grabbing his winter-thickened ruff and touching her forehead to his. Then she turned to the horse. "This woman appreciates your help, Whinny," she said in her special language that was partly Clan signs and soft horse nickers. The horse lifted her head, snorted, and stepped closer to the woman. Ayla held the mare's head up and blew into her nostrils, exchanging scents of recognition and friendship.

She wrung the neck of one bird that wasn't dead; then, using some tough grass, she tied the feathered feet of the birds together. She mounted the horse and draped them across the pack-saddle basket behind her. On her way back, she came upon the partridges again, and she couldn't resist trying for a couple of them as well. With two more stones, she got two more birds, but she missed on her try for a third. Wolf got one, and this time she let him keep his.