But a baby doesn't start every time Pleasures are shared. Maybe spirits are necessary, too. Whether it's the totem spirits of the Clan men, or the essence of a man's spirit that the Mother takes and gives to a woman, it still starts when a man puts his organ inside and leaves his essence there. That's how She gives a child to a woman, not with spirits, with Her Gift of Pleasure. But She decides which man's essence will start the new life, and when the life will begin.

If the Mother decides, why does Iza's medicine keep a woman from getting pregnant? Perhaps it won't let a man's essence, or his spirit, mix with a woman's. Iza didn't know why it worked, but it does seem to, most of the time.

I would like to let a baby start when Jondalar shares Pleasures with me. I want to have a baby so much, one that's a part of him. His essence or his spirit. But he's right. We should wait. It was so hard for me to have Durc. If Iza hadn't been there, what would I have done? I'd want to be sure there were people around who would know how to help.

I will keep drinking Iza's tea every morning, and I won't say anything. She was right. I shouldn't talk too much about babies starting from a man's organ, either. It made Jondalar so worried when I mentioned it, he thought we'd have to stop having Pleasures. If I can't have a baby yet, at least, I want to have Pleasures with him.

Like those mammoths were having. Is that what that big mammoth was doing? Making a baby start in that dark red one. That was so wonderful, sharing their Pleasures with the herd. I'm so glad we stayed. I kept wondering why she was running away from all those others, but she wasn't interested in them. She wanted to choose her own mate, not go with anyone who wanted her. She was waiting for that big light brown bull, and as soon as he came, she knew he was the one. She couldn't wait, she ran right to him. She had waited long enough. I know how she feels.

Wolf loped into the clearing, proudly holding up an old rotting bone for her to see. He dropped it at her feet and looked up expectantly. "Whew! That smells rotten! Where did you get that, Wolf? You must have found where someone's leavings were buried. I know you love rotten. Maybe this is a good time to see how you like hot and strong," she said. She picked up the bone and spread some of the mixture she had been making on Wolf's prize. Then she threw it into the middle of the clearing.

The young animal eagerly dashed after it, but he sniffed it warily before he picked it up. It still had the wonderful rotten odor he adored, but he wasn't sure about that other strange smell. Finally he snatched it with his mouth. But very quickly he dropped it and began snorting and snuffling and shaking his head. Ayla couldn't help it. His antics were so funny that she laughed out loud. Wolf sniffed the bone again, then backed off and snorted, looking very displeased, and ran toward the spring.

"You don't like that, do you, Wolf? Good! You're not supposed to like it," she said, feeling the laughter bubbling up inside her as she watched. Lapping water didn't seem to help much. He lifted a paw and rubbed it down the side of his face, trying to wipe his muzzle, as though he thought that would get rid of the taste. He was still snorting and huffing and shaking his head as he ran into the woods.

Jondalar crossed his path, and when he reached the glade he found Ayla laughing so hard there were tears in her eyes. "What is so funny?" he asked.

"You should have seen him," she said, still chortling. "Poor Wolf, he was so proud of that rotten old bone he found. He didn't know what happened to it, and he tried everything to get the taste out of his mouth. If you think you can stand the smell of horseradish and camphor, Jondalar, I think I've found a way to keep Wolf away from our things." She held out the wooden bowl she had been using to mix the ingredients. "Here it is. 'Wolf repellent!'"

"I'm glad it works," Jondalar said. He was smiling, too, but the glee that filled his eyes wasn't caused by Wolf. Ayla finally noticed that his hands were behind his back.

"What have you got behind your back?" she asked, suddenly curious.

"Well, it just happens that when I was out looking for wood I found something else. And if you promise to be good, I just might give you some."

"Somewhat?"

He brought the filled basket in front of him. "Big, juicy, red raspberries!"

Ayla's eyes lit up. "Oh, I love raspberries."

"Don't you think I know it? What do I get for them?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

Ayla looked up at him and, walking toward him, smiled, a big beautiful wide smile that filled her eyes and beamed her love for him, and the warmth she had been feeling, and her delight because he wanted to give her a surprise.

"I think I just got it," he said, letting out the breath he realized he'd been holding. "Oh, Mother, you are beautiful when you smile. You're beautiful all the time, but especially when you smile."

Suddenly he was consciously aware of her, aware of every feature and detail. Her long, thick, dark blond hair, gleaming with highlights where the sun had lightened it, was held back out of her way with a thong. But it had a natural wave and loose strands that had escaped the leather binding curled around her tanned face; one fell down her forehead in front of her eyes. He restrained an urge to reach out and move it aside.

She was tall, a good match for his own six-foot, six-inch frame, and the lithe, flat, wiry muscles of real physical strength were sharply defined in her long arms and legs. She was one of the strongest women he'd ever met; as physically powerful as many men he knew. The people who had raised her were endowed with an appreciably greater bodily strength than the taller but lighter-weight people she was born to, and though Ayla was not considered particularly strong when she lived with the Clan, she had developed a far greater strength than she normally might have, just to keep up. Coupled with years of observing, tracking, and stalking as a hunter, she used her body with ease and moved with uncommon grace.

The sleeveless leather tunic she wore, belted, over leather leggings fit comfortably, but did not hide her firm, full breasts, which could have seemed heavy but didn't, or her womanly hips that curved back to her well-rounded and firm rear. The laces at the bottom of her leggings were open and she was barefoot. Around her neck was a small, beautifully embroidered and decorated leather pouch, with crane feathers along the bottom, which showed the bumps of the mysterious objects it held.

Hanging from the belt was a knife sheath made of stiff rawhide, the hide of an animal that had been cleaned and scraped but not processed in any way, so that it dried hard in whatever shape it was formed, though a good, thorough wetting could soften it again. She had tucked her sling into the right side of her belt, next to a pouch that held several stones. On the left side was a rather strange, pouchlike object. Though old and worn, it was obvious that it had been made from a whole otter skin, cured with the feet, tail, and head left on. The throat had been cut and the insides removed through the neck, then a cord was strung through slits and pulled tight to close. The flattened head became the flap. It was her medicine bag, the one she had brought with her from the Clan, the one Iza had given her.

She does not have the face of a Zelandonii woman, Jondalar was thinking; they would notice a foreign look, but her beauty was unmistakable. Her large eyes were gray-blue – the color of fine flint, he thought – and wide-spaced, outlined with lashes a shade or two darker than her hair; her eyebrows were somewhat lighter, between the two in color. Her face was heart-shaped, rather wide with high cheekbones, a well-defined jaw, and a narrow chin. Her nose was straight and finely made, and her full lips, curving up at the corners, were opened and pulled back, showing her teeth in a smile that lit up her eyes and announced her sheer pleasure in the very act of smiling.