Their evening meal was fairly light, often food saved from midday with perhaps the addition of a few fresh vegetables, grains, or meat, if some had been encountered along the way. Something that could be eaten quickly and cold was prepared for morning. They usually fed Wolf, too. Though he foraged for himself at night, he had developed a taste for cooked meat and even enjoyed grains and vegetables. They seldom set up the tent, though the warm sleeping rolls were welcome. The nights cooled rapidly, and morning often brought a misty haze.

Occasional summer thunderstorms and drenching rains brought an unexpected and usually welcome cooling shower, though sometimes the atmosphere was even more oppressive afterward, and Ayla hated the thunder. It reminded her too much of the sound of earthquakes. The sheet lightning that crackled across the heavens, lighting the night sky, always filled them with awe, but it was the lightning that struck close that bothered Jondalar. He hated to be out in the open when it came, and he always felt like crawling into his sleeping roll and pulling the tent over him, though he resisted the urge and never would admit it.

As time passed, besides the heat, it was the insects that they noticed most. Butterflies, bees, wasps, even flies and a few mosquitoes were not particularly bothersome. It was the smallest of them all, the clouds of gnats, that gave them the most trouble. But if the people were bothered, the animals were miserable. The persistent creatures were everywhere, into eyes, noses, and mouths, and the sweaty skin under the shaggy coats.

Steppe horses usually migrated north during the summer. Their thick fur and compact bodies were adapted to the cold, and while there were wolves on the southern plains – no predator was more widespread – Wolf came from northern stock. Over time, wolves that lived in the southern regions had made several adaptations to the extreme conditions of the south, with its hot, dry summers, and winters that were nearly as cold as the land closer to the glaciers, but could also see much heavier snow. For example, they shed their fur in far greater amounts when the weather warmed, and their panting tongues cooled them more efficiently.

Ayla did everything she could for the suffering animals, but even daily dunkings in the river and various medications did not rid them entirely of the tiny gnats. Open running sores infested with their quick-maturing eggs grew larger despite the medicine woman's treatments. Horses and Wolf alike shed handfuls of hair, leaving bare spots, and their thick rich coats became matted and dull.

Applying a soothing wash to a sticky open sore near one of Whinney's ears, Ayla said, "I'm sick of this hot weather, and these terrible gnats! Will it ever be cool again?"

"You may wish for this heat before this trip is through, Ayla."

Gradually, as they continued traveling upstream beside the great river, the rugged uplands and high peaks of the north angled closer, and the eroded chain of mountains to the south increased in elevation. In all the twists and turns of their generally westward direction, they had been heading just slightly north. They veered then toward the south, before making a sharp turn that began taking them northwest, then arced around to the north, and finally even east for a distance before curving around a point and going northwest again.

Though he couldn't exactly say why – there weren't any particular landmarks he could positively identify – Jondalar felt a familiarity with the landscape. Following the river would take them northwest, but he was sure it would curve back around again. He decided, for the first time since they had reached the great delta, to leave the security of the Great Mother River and ride north beside a tributary, into the foothills of the high, sharp-peaked mountains that were now much closer to the river. The route they followed up the feeder river gradually turned northwest.

Ahead the mountains were coming together; a ridge joining the long arc of the ice-topped northern range was closing in on the eroded southern highlands, which had become sharper, higher, and icier, until they were separated by only a narrow gorge. The ridge had once held back a deep inland sea that had been surrounded by the soaring chains. But over the vast millennia the outlet that spilled out the yearly accumulation of water began to wear down the limestone, sandstone, and shale of the mountains. The level of the inland basin was slowly lowered to match the height of the corridor that was being ground out of the rock until, eventually, the sea was drained, leaving behind the flat bottom that would become a sea of grass.

The narrow gorge hemmed in the Great Mother River with rugged, precipitous walls of crystalline granite. And volcanic rock which once had been outcrops and intrusions in the softer more erodable stone of the mountains, soared up on both sides. It was a long gateway through the mountains to the southern plains and ultimately to Beran Sea, and Jondalar knew there was no way to walk beside the river as she went through the gorge. There was no choice but to go around.

Except for the absence of the voluminous flow, the terrain was unchanged when they first turned aside and began following the small stream – dry, open grassland with stunted brush close by the water – but Ayla experienced a sense of loss. The broad expanse of the Great Mother River had been their constant companion for so long, that it was disconcerting not to see her comforting presence there beside them, showing them the way. As they proceeded toward the foothills and gained altitude, the brush filled out, became taller and leafier, and extended farther out into the plains.

The absence of the great river affected Jondalar, too. One day had blended into another with reassuring monotony as they traveled beside her productive waters in the natural warmth of summer. The predictability of her lavish abundance had lulled him into complacency and blunted his anxious worries about getting Ayla home safely. After turning away from the bountiful Mother of rivers, his concerns returned, and the changing countryside made him think about the landscape ahead. He began to consider their provisions and wonder if they had enough food with them. He wasn't as sure about the easy availability of fish in the smaller waterway, and even less certain of foraging in the wooded mountains.

Jondalar wasn't as familiar with the ways of woodland wildlife. Animals of the open plains tended to congregate in herds and could be seen from a distance, but the fauna that lived in the forest were more solitary, and there were trees and brush to conceal them. When he had lived with the Sharamudoi, he had always hunted with someone who understood the region.

The Shamudoi half of the people liked to hunt the high tors for chamois, and they knew the ways of bear, boar, forest bison, and other elusive woodland prey. Jondalar recalled that Thonolan had developed a preference for hunting in the mountains with them. The Ramudoi moiety, on the other hand, knew the river and hunted its creatures, especially the giant sturgeon. Jondalar had been more interested in the boats and learning the ways of the river. Though he had climbed the mountains with the chamois hunters on occasion, he didn't care much for heights.

Sighting a small herd of red deer, Jondalar decided that it would be a good opportunity to procure a supply of meat to see them through the next few days until they reached the Sharamudoi, and perhaps bring some with them to share. Ayla was eager when he suggested it. She enjoyed hunting and they hadn't done much of it recently, except for bringing down a few partridges and other small game, which she usually did with her sling. The Great Mother River had been so giving, it hadn't been necessary to hunt much.