Ayla scrambled to her feet and raced to the magician, taking her baby from her cloak as she dropped at his feet and holding the naked infant up to him. his first squall at being taken from his mother's warm breast and exposed to the damp cool air was greeted by the first rays of sun breaking over the top of the ridge, burning through the misty haze.

A name! She hadn't even thought about a name, she hadn't even wondered what name Creb would choose for her son. In formal gestures, Mog-ur called the spirits of the totems to attend, then reached into the bowl and scooped out a dab of red paste.

"Durc," he said loudly above the lusty cries of the cold and angry baby. "The boy's name is Durc." Then he drew a red line from the junction of the baby's supraorbital ridges to the tip of his smallish nose.

"Durc," Ayla repeated, holding her son close to warm him. Durc, she thought, like the Durc of the legend. Creb knows that's always been my favorite. It was not a common Clan name and many were surprised, but perhaps the name, dredged from the depths of antiquity and fraught with dubious connotations, was appropriate for a boy whose life had hung in the balance of such uncertain beginnings.

"Durc," Brun said. He was the first to file past. Ayla thought she saw a glimmer of tenderness from the stern, proud leader as she looked at him in gratitude. Most of the faces were a blur seen through tear-filled eyes. As hard as she tried, she could not control them, and kept her head down in an effort to conceal her wet eyes. I can't believe it. I just can't believe it, she thought. Is it really true? You have a name, my baby? Brun accepted you, my son? I'm not dreaming? She remembered the glittering nodules of iron pyrite she had found and put in her amulet. It was a sign. Great Cave Lion, it was truly a sign. Of all the artifacts in her amulet, she treasured that one the most.

"Durc," she heard Iza say and looked up. The joy on the woman's face was no less than Ayla's for all that her eyes were dry.

"Durc," Uba said, and added with a quick gesture, "I'm so glad."

"Durc." It was said with a sneer. Ayla glanced up in time to see Broud turn away. She suddenly remembered the strange idea about the way men started babies she had while she was hiding in the small cave, and shuddered at the thought that somehow Broud was responsible for the conception of her son. She had been too busy to notice the battle of wills between Brun and Broud. The young man was going to refuse to acknowledge the newest member of the clan, and only a direct order from the leader finally forced the issue. Ayla watched him walk away from the group with clenched fists and tense shoulders.

How could be? Broud walked into the woods to get away from the hated scene. He could he? He kicked a log in vain to attempt to vent his frustration, sending it rolling down a slope. How could he? He picked up a stout branch and sent it crashing into a tree. How could he? How could he? Broud's mind kept repeating the phrase as he smashed his fist again and again into a moss-covered bank. How could he let her live and accept her baby both? How could he do it?