When morning came, Durc buried the small, irregular mat he had woven. He had no use for it; he had only meant to do something useful with his time, and all learning is useful--to someone, some time. Now that he understood the process, he could make one if he had to. This one held too much that he needed to let go of.
He crossed the river some time after it turned north again. A westward pointing wolf skull lay across his path; he could follow this river no farther. He set up camp on the other side, spreading all his things out to dry. He sat thinking for a while in the morning before starting out. This was drier country again, and he still had no means of carrying water. Should he go back down the river in order to get back to the larger river and follow it? Summer was already here. His journey seemed as if it would go on forever.
No better thought came to him, so he headed downriver. One could not live long without water. If he knew how to prepare an animal's stomach or bladder to carry water, he would make a more serious effort to bring down something larger than a hare. But that was a very particular woman's art, one that he knew far too little about. An improperly cured waterbag could make a man sick, they said. At best, it would decay and burst. A fine thing that would be.
In the middle of the second day, he circled a small bluff that made the river's bank too hard to follow closely. As he came in sight of the river once more he stopped still. Something tawny colored that was not dry grass lay amid the scrubby bushes ahead of him. He saw another, and a third, and then a round head peered up and snorted in surprise. In a moment the mother of the curious cave lion cub lifted her head. Durc backed away slowly the way he had come.
His legs shook a little as he signed to his totem, "This man is foolish. You are wise." He went on in the direction indicated by the wolf skull. Ursus would provide. He could drink the blood of his small kills, as his totem did.
The way indicated by his totem was hard, but Durc's faith and the bounty of the land sustained him. Light rain-showers came to refresh him, and once a deer showed him the way to a tiny spring.
Small animals and an occasional bird fell to his sling nearly every day. He had not gone hungry often during his journey. Broud might despise the sling as a weapon of boys and old men, but it kept one alive.
Durc knew nothing of nutritional science, but he enjoyed the taste of fresh greens, roots, and fruit. Though he had much less knowledge of edible plants than a woman, with her great store of inherited lore, he ate well. Juicy strawberries had begun to ripen now. He slowed where they grew thickly to eat as much as he could. They helped to hold off thirst. Raspberries would soon follow, then blackberries, and then winter would be close again. That thought sent a sudden chill through him.
"Spirit of Grey Wolf, if it be your will, lead this man to a place of shelter. Though darkness surrounds me and the way is hidden, your wisdom guides me, you have never forsaken me. This man will walk in your path until his days end."
The young man stood on a low rise between two hills, facing west beneath a clouded sky. Before him lay yet another broad valley, with the dark tree-line of a river smudging the distance below a range of higher hills. A herd of bison grazed in a grassy area below and directly ahead of him. All at once the sun burst through the clouds, illuminating Durc and casting a brilliant light on the land before him.
In the bright sun he could see several human figures stalking the bison, and one wolf. He thought for a moment he might have fallen asleep and this was only a dream. No, he felt the wind tug at his tangled hair, felt the ground beneath his feet, smelled his smoky hides and unwashed self too keenly.
The wolf approached the bison at a weaving trot, head low to the ground. The herd animals raised their heads and moved a little closer together. The wolf came closer, testing them. Slowly the humans approached, taking advantage of any bit of cover. They moved like herons, slow-stepping so as not to be noticed by their prey. Perhaps they had rubbed themselves with bison dung and urine to disguise their scent. They wore little clothing.
Durc watched in complete fascination as the wolf nipped at the heels of a young bison that moved awkwardly with a stiff leg. It was the wolf's way to cut out the easiest prey--but where was this wolf's pack? Suddenly the herd sensed the human presence, or at any rate deemed it perilous. As one they wheeled about and thundered away, all but the gimpy one. The wolf leaped in front of it, snapping at its nose.
The humans, meanwhile, dashed forward with no more thought of concealment, yelling like a flock of birds. Thin streaks of something light-colored glinted in the sun, arcing toward the bison. It leaped forward, ignoring the wolf that dodged out of its way, then fell to its knees snorting blood. It rolled onto its side, kicked, and lay still. The wolf ran up to it and leaped excitedly on and off the body, yipping like a puppy.
Clouds hid the sun again, making the scene less vivid, but no less shocking. The wolf dashed toward the men and around them. One of the men stopped, grabbed the wolf by its neck-ruff and rocked its head back and forth, making a ha-ha sound that Durc could hear clearly. His hand rose to his amulet.