“O Mother of Mothers, take care of me,” she whispered.

Overhead the branches moved. Leaves rustled—a loud noise, unlike the soft whishof vegetation moving on the plain.

She prayed to the Mistress of the Forge. “Bring me safely home, o holy one.”

Late in the afternoon she met a man. He was on top of a small hill, sitting on a boulder. There were no trees nearby, only bushes with small blue-green leaves. His bowhorn grazed on one of these.

Nia reined her animal. Her heart began to beat quickly.

“I thought I saw a woman. What a surprise! Nia, is it you?”

She looked at him. He was dark brown, and his eyes were gray. A very strange color. “Enshi?” His tunic was ragged, she noticed. He looked thin.

“How is my mother? And what are you doing here? The women never get this far south.”

She opened her mouth to answer. Enshi stood up, then jumped off the boulder. “Let’s talk later. There is a scent coming from you, Nia. I can’t tell you what it does to me.” He held out a hand. “Come on.”

His dark fur gleamed in the sunlight. She realized, all at once, that he was handsome. She dismounted and tethered her bowhorn, then got her cloak.

They went into the bushes and mated there. The ground was stony. The leaves had a fresh spring smell. As for Enshi, he was a little awkward, but perfectly adequate.

When they were done, he rolled over on his back. “Is that what it’s like? I expected more. Still…” He looked at her. His gray eyes were half-shut. He reached out and touched her gently. “What soft fur!” He made a low ruhnoise in the back of his throat, then shut his eyes completely and went to sleep.

Nia pulled the cloak up so it covered both of them. She looked at the bowhorns, then at the sky. The sun was gone, but the clouds were still shining, white and pale gold. She felt drowsy and happy.

Enshi the Joker! She had never imagined mating with him. For one thing she’d thought he was dead. Who would have thought he could have survived the bitter winter?

Enshi woke at twilight. He glanced at her. “It wasn’t a dream. If the spirits are responsible for this, I thank them.” He grabbed her. They mated again. Afterward they went down into the nearest valley and made camp. The night was windy and cold. Ragged clouds filled the sky. The fire flickered. Enshi talked.

“What are you doing this far south? Why didn’t one of the big men get you, before you got to Enshi?”

She thought for a moment. “I wanted to get down here. I wanted to find my brother Anasu.” She stopped, feeling surprised. Was that right? Had she come to find Anasu?

“You did?” Enshi stared at her. “Why?”

Nia scratched her head. “I don’t know. Do you know where he is?”

Enshi made the gesture of affirmation. “I get my salt from him. I used to, anyway. The winter was hard, and I don’t think I have anything left to give him.”

Nia opened her mouth.

Enshi looked at her. His eyes were half-closed. He looked thoughtful, almost clever. “You want me to tell you where he is. I won’t. If you came this far to see him, then you’re likely to go farther and leave me here alone, feeling stupid. I don’t intend to let go of you, Nia. Not until the time for mating is over.”

“You certainly are talkative,” Nia said.

Enshi made the gesture of agreement. “Remember, I’ve had no one to talk to all winter.”

“Will you tell me where Anasu is when the time for mating is over?”

“Yes.”

Nia made the gesture that meant “so be it.”

“Now,” Enshi said, “tell me about my mother. Is she well? Does she still grieve for me?”

She spent eight days with Enshi. The weather remained cold and windy. Now and then rain fell. It wasn’t heavy. The trees above their camp protected them; and they kept a good fire going. They mated often.

Every morning Enshi went out hunting. In the afternoon he came back with leaves and roots and the tender shoots of spring plants. Twice he brought back game: a winter-thin groundbird and a builder of mounds. The builder of mounds was small, but fat. Or at least it was not thin.

“He did better than I did this winter,” Enshi said.

Nia skinned the animal, gutted and spitted it. They sat side by side and watched it cook.

“Hu! What a smell! I used to dream about the smell of cooking meat. I’d wake up and find nothing except snow. What a disappointment! There were times when the weather was bad, and I couldn’t travel. I’d begin to look at my bowhorn and think about him as a roast. But I thought, no, Enshi. You’ll die without an animal to ride. Then I prayed to the spirits; and the weather would break. I’d go down to the edge of the herd and look for a bowhorn that was too weak to run from me and kill it. The meat was always stringy, with no fat at all. Well, those days are over. Why think about them?”

Nia turned the spit. While the other side of the animal was cooking, they mated.

The next day Nia made a fish trap and set it in the stream at the bottom of the valley. That evening they ate fish stuffed with herbs.

“What a fine cook you are,” Enshi said. “Almost as good as my mother.”

Nia felt irritated. It seemed to her that Enshi was always talking about his mother. It wasn’t right. A boy who was properly brought up talked about himself or about the old men who taught him how to be a man. He didn’t go on and on about his mother.

“What is Anasu like these days?” she asked.

Enshi made the gesture that meant “who can say?” “I’ve met him two times. The first time I tried to talk with him, he said, ‘I don’t want a conversation, Enshi. What do you have that you are willing to give me?’ He wouldn’t say anything else. I got out one of my mother’s bronze cups and set it on the ground. He got out a bag of salt, then waved me back. When I was far enough away, he came and took the cup, then put down his bag. That was it. He left. I picked up the salt. The second time I met him, he said nothing at all.” Enshi paused a moment, then went on. “He’s friendlier than the other men. He never makes faces or waves weapons at me.”

This sounded bad. Would Anasu be willing to talk with her? She didn’t know.

The time for mating ended. Nia gave Enshi her gifts. He looked uncomfortable. “The winter was hard. I lost most of my parting gifts. First a killer of the forest found my cache and tore it apart. Then I lost most of the rest this spring while crossing a river.

“But I make poems. Can I give them to you?”

“Yes.”

He recited nine or ten. Afterward she remembered only one. It was about a tree he had seen a few days before.

“All the branches were bare, and the bark was peeling off. Nonetheless, there were shoots all around the tree, growing from the base of it. They were as long as my arm. They bore leaves and flowers. I thought this must be significant. And I made a poem. It goes:

“That one I like,” Nia said.

He recited it again. “Is that enough? Have we made a fair exchange?”

“Where is Anasu?”

“Oh, yes. Follow the trail until it forks. Then go south. You will come to a big stone with markings on it. The stone is magical, and no one ever claims that it is in his territory. People go there to exchange gifts. Wait by the stone. If Anasu is anywhere around, he will come.”

“Thank you. We’ve made a fair exchange.”

They said good-bye. Nia saddled her bowhorn, then mounted and rode away. The day was sunny. A light wind blew. Birds whistled. She felt content.

At twilight she came to the stone. It was tall and narrow with lines cut into it. She could barely make them out; and she didn’t know what they meant. Had people done this? No one she knew cut lines in stone.