“Well,” said Mary, “here I am.” She paused. “I hope you don’t mind me coming to your bonding ceremony.”

Whether she really did or not, Jasmel had her father’s courtesy. “No, of course not. I am delighted you are here.”

Ponter spoke up quickly, perhaps, thought Mary, detecting that his daughter was secretly displeased, and wanting to move along before the topic came into the open. “And this is—was—my daughter’s guardian.” He looked at the thirty-eight-year-old. “I, ah, hadn’t expected you,” he said.

The Neanderthal woman’s eyebrow moved up her browridge. “Apparently not,” she said, glancing at Mary.

“Ah,” said Ponter, “yes, well, this is Mare Vaughan—the woman I told you about from the other side. Mare, this is Daklar Bolbay.”

“My God,” said Mary, and her Companion bleeped, unable to translate the phrase.

“Yes?” said Daklar, prodding Mary to try again.

“I—ah, I mean, pleased to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“And I you,” said Daklar evenly.

Mary forced a smile and looked away.

“Daklar,” explained Ponter, “was the woman-mate of my woman-mate, Klast, and so she had served as Jasmel’s guardian. He turned pointedly to Daklar. “Until Jasmel reached the age of majority when she reached 225 months in the spring, that is.”

Mary tried to follow the undercurrents. It seemed that Ponter was saying that since Daklar had no official role in Jasmel’s life anymore, she shouldn’t be here. Well, Mary could certainly understand Ponter’s discomfort. Daklar, after all, had tried to have Adikor castrated.

But whatever awkwardness Ponter felt was interrupted by the arrival of still more people: a male and a female Neanderthal, each looking to be approaching fifty.

“These are Tryon’s parents,” said Ponter. “Bal Durban,” he continued, indicating the male, “and Yabla Pol. Bal, Yabla, this is my friend Mare Vaughan.”

Bal had a booming voice. “No need to introduce her,” he said. “I’ve been watching you on my Voyeur.”

Mary tried to suppress a shudder. She’d caught sight of the occasional silver outfit, but she’d had no idea that she had been the object of the Exhibitionists’ attention.

“Look at you!” said Yabla. “All skin and bones! Do they have enough food in your world?”

In her whole life, no one had ever referred to Mary as “skin and bones.” She rather liked the sound of it. “Yes,” she said, blushing a bit.

“Well, tonight we feast,” said Yabla. “One meal cannot undo ten months of neglect, but we will make a good start!”

Mary smiled politely.

Bal turned to his woman-mate. “What is keeping that boy of yours?” he said.

“Who knows?” said Yabla, her tone one of gentle teasing. “He clearly got his time sense from you.”

“Here he comes,” shouted Jasmel, still wearing her heavy pack.

Mary looked in the direction the girl was pointing. A figure was emerging in the distance, trudging toward them, something large slung across his shoulders. It looked like it would be several minutes before he closed the distance, though. Mary leaned over to Ponter. “What’s your daughter’s intended’s name again?”

Ponter frowned for a moment, evidently listening to Hak trying to make sense out of the question. “Oh,” he said at last. “Tryon Rugal.”

“I don’t understand your names,” said Mary. “I mean, ‘Vaughan’ is my family name: both my parents, both my brothers, and my sister all share it.” She shielded her eyes with a hand as she looked out at the approaching boy again.

Ponter was looking that way, too, but his browridge was all the shielding he needed. “The last name, the one that is used by the outside world, is chosen by the father; the first name, the one that is used by those one knows well, is chosen by the mother. You see the sense of it? Fathers live at the periphery; mothers in the center. My father chose ‘Boddit’ for me, which means ‘wonderfully handsome’ and my mother chose ‘Ponter,’ which means ‘magnificently intelligent.’”

“You’re kidding,” said Mary.

Ponter cracked his giant grin. “Yes, I am. Sorry; I just wanted something as impressive as your own ‘mother of God.’ Seriously, ‘Ponter’ means ‘full moon,’ and ‘Boddit’ is the name of a city in Evsoy, known for its great painters.”

“Ah,” said Mary. “Then—my God!”

“Well,” said Ponter, still in a kidding mood, “he certainly is not mine.”

“No, look!” She pointed at Tryon.

“Yes?” said Ponter.

“He’s carrying a deer carcass!”

“You noticed that?” Ponter smiled. “It is his hunting offering to Jasmel. And in her pack, she has her gathering offering for him.”

Indeed, Jasmel was finally unslinging her pack. Perhaps, thought Mary, it was traditional to wait until the man had seen that the woman had brought the goods herself. As Tryon came closer, Ponter moved toward him and helped him get the deer off his shoulders.

Mary’s stomach turned. The deer’s hide was bloody, a half dozen wounds piercing its torso. And, as Tryon bent over, she saw that his own back was slick with deer blood.

“Does someone have to officiate over the ceremony?” asked Mary.

Ponter looked confused. “No.”

“We have a judge or a representative of the church do it,” said Mary.

“Jasmel and Tryon’s pledges to each other will automatically be recorded at the alibi archives,” said Ponter.

Mary nodded. Of course.

Now that Tryon was free of the deer, he ran toward his dear. Jasmel accepted him with open arms, and they hugged tightly, and licked each other’s faces, rather passionately. Mary found herself looking away.

“Come on,” said Tryon’s father, Bal. “It will take tenths to roast that deer. We should get on with it.”

The two let go of each other. Mary saw that Jasmel’s hands were now stained red from running them up Tryon’s back. It disgusted Mary, but Jasmel just laughed when she noticed it.

And, without further preamble, the ceremony was apparently under way. “All right,” said Jasmel. “Here we go.” She turned to Tryon. “I promise to hold you in my heart twenty-nine days a month, and to hold you in my arms whenever Two become One.”

Mary looked at Ponter. The muscles of his wide jaw were bunching; he was clearly moved.

“I promise,” continued Jasmel, “that your health and your happiness will be as important to me as my own.”

Daklar was clearly moved, too. After all, as Mary understood it, she and Jasmel had lived together all of Jasmel’s life.

Jasmel spoke again: “If, at any time, you tire of me, I promise to release you without acrimony, and with the best interests of our children as my highest priority.”

Mary was impressed by that. How much simpler her own life would have been if she and Colm had made a similar pledge. She looked again at Ponter, and—

Jesus!

Daklar had moved to stand next to him, and—Mary could scarcely believe it—the two of them were holding hands!

It was apparently Tryon’s turn to speak now. “I promise,” he said, “to hold you in my heart twenty-nine days a month, and to hold you in my arms whenever Two become One.”

Two becoming One, thought Mary. Surely that had already happened once here in the time between Ponter’s first returning home and his reappearance on Mary’s Earth. She’d assumed he’d spent that time alone, but…

“I promise,” said Tryon, “that your happiness and wellbeing will be as important to me as my own.”

“If you ever tire of me,” he continued, “I promise to release you without pain, and with the best interests of our children as my highest priority.”

Ordinarily, Mary would be delighted to hear such absolute parity in the marital pledges—she’d had to fight Colm to get the “and obey” part struck from what she was supposed to recite. But that thought was entirely subordinate to her shock to find that Ponter and Daklar were affectionate toward each other—and after what she’d done to Adikor!

Little Mega startled Mary by clapping her hands together once. “They are bonded!” she squealed. For half a second, Mary thought the girl was referring to Ponter and Daklar, but, no, no, that was ridiculous.