THE SHELTERS OF STONE

He became a little flustered because he could not reach out well with his partially paralyzed arm. Ayla stretched a bit for his crippled limb and took both hands in hers as though it were perfectly normal, but she noted that his hand was smaller and misshapen, and the little finger was fused to the one next to it. She held his hands for a moment and smiled.

Then, as though he just remembered, the boy said, "I am Lanidar of the Nineteenth Cave of the Zelandonii." He was about to let go, but added, "The Nineteenth Cave welcomes you to the Summer Meeting, Ayla of the Ninth Cave of the Zelandonii."

"You whistle very well. Your whistle was a very good copy of mine. Do you like to whistle?" she asked when she let go.

"I guess so."

"Can I ask you not to make that whistle sound again?" she said.

"Why?" he asked.

"I use that sound to call the horse, this one, the stallion. If you whistle like that, I'm afraid he will think you are calling him and it will confuse him," Ayla explained. "If you like to whistle, I can teach you other sounds to whistle."

"Like what?"

Ayla looked around and noticed a chickadee perched on the limb of a nearby tree, singing thechick-a-dee-dee-dee sound that gave the bird its name. She listened for a moment, then repeated the sound. The boy looked startled, and the bird stopped singing for a moment, then started up again. Ayla repeated the sound. The black-capped bird sang again, looking around.

"How do you do that?" the boy said.

"I'll teach you if you like. You could learn, you're a good whistler," she said.

"Can you whistle like other birds, too?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Which ones?"

"Any one you want."

"How about a meadow lark?"

Ayla closed her eyes for a moment, then whistled a series of tones that sounded exactly like a lark that had soared high into the sky and swooped down, making its glorious melody.

"Can you really teach me to do that?" the boy asked, looking at her with wonder in his eyes.

"If you really want to learn," Ayla said. "How did you learn?"

"I practiced. If you have patience, sometimes the bird will come to you when you whistle its song," the woman replied. Ayla remembered when she lived alone in her valley and taught herself to whistle and imitate the sounds of birds. Once she started feeding them, there were several that always came at her call and ate out of her hand.

"Can you whistle other things?" Lanidar asked, completely intrigued by the strange woman who talked funny and whistled so well.

Ayla thought for a moment, then perhaps because the boy reminded her of Creb, she began to whistle an eerie melody that sounded like a flute playing. He had heard flutes many times, but he had never heard anything like it. The haunting music was totally unfamiliar to him. It was the sound of the flute played by the mog-ur at the Clan Gathering she had gone to with Brun's clan when she still lived with them. Lanidar listened until she stopped. "I never heard whistling like that," he said.

"Did you like it?" she asked.

"Yes, but it was a little scary, too. Like it came from a place far away," Lanidar said.

"It did," Ayla said, then she smiled and pierced the air with a sharp, commanding trill. Before long, Wolf came bounding out of the long grass of the field.

"It's a wolf!" the boy screamed with fear.

"It's all right," she said, holding Wolf close to her. "The wolf is my friend. I walked through the main camp with him yesterday. I thought you would know that he was here, along with the horses."

The boy calmed down, but still looked at Wolf with large round eyes full of apprehension.

"I went with my mother to pick raspberries yesterday. Nobody even told me you were here. They just said there were some horses in the Upper Meadow," Lanidar said. "Everybody was talking about some kind of spear-throwing thing some man wanted to show. I'm not good at throwing a spear, so I decided I'd look for the horses instead."

Ayla wondered if the omission was on purpose, if someone was trying to trick him the way Marona had tried to trick her. Then she realized that a boy of his age who went berry picking with his mother probably led a pretty lonely life. She got a sense that the boy with a crippled arm, who could not throw a spear, did not have many friends and that the other boys made fun of him and tried to trick him. But he did have one good arm. He could learn to throw a spear, especially using a spear-thrower.

"Why aren't you good at throwing a spear?" she asked.

"Can't you see?" he said, holding out his malformed arm and looking at it with loathing.

"But you have another arm that is perfectly good," she said.

"Everybody always holds their extra spears with their other arm. Besides, nobody wanted to teach me. They said I could never hit a target, anyway," the boy said.

"What about the man of your hearth?" Ayla asked.