Ranec watched the departing troop of Golvo enthusiasts. Was he going to be a "Golvo widower" even before he was mated? Sighing, he turned and headed toward his cache of long bones. Might as well try to look on the bright side. A set of beautifully decorated Golvo clubs would be a show-stopping matrimonial gift. His beloved, droolsome Ayla would receive them with that excruciatingly pants-tightening smile -- hold that thought! He glanced back at the disappearing group. That Jondalar... Ranec's forehead knitted a little, then purled. Mut, please, don't let that big, dumb blond get too good at the game...

Jondalar trailed behind the chattering company of Golvists. His mind -- or at least as much of it as could be spared from thinking about Ayla and trying not to think about Ayla --was occupied not with the game itself, but with the paraphernalia of Golvo. He wanted to discuss the shaping of the balls with Wymez. And the clubs -- their balance and qualities of resilience... as for the decoration, that made him think of -- erg -- Ranec, and he'd rather not.

The group walked slowly, to accommodate Mamut. Druwez carried Mamut's clubs, and a bag of balls. Since she had no clubs of her own yet, Ayla carried a basket of food and an extra waterskin. A mid-morning snack would be welcome. It would have been nice to have a horse along to carry some of the things, but she had decided to keep the animals away from the Golvo course. She could not be certain that they would not stray off and be injured by a flying ball. Rydag had been happy to take charge of Wolf, who would probably enjoy being with the smaller children anyway.

It was another beautiful day. The sky was as blue as a Zelandonii eye, with little white clouds, like baby mouflons. scattered lightly about. Ayla noticed purple and white violets blooming beside the path. A lark sang overhead, while many other birds could be heard calling from the brushy areas.

Wymez went first today. Ayla watched him closely. He was very good at the game, for a flint-knapper. Perhaps it was because he made most of the balls, and hated to lose a good one. By now, Ayla knew who were the most involved with the game. Tulie had an intense competitiveness, as well as skill. Tarneg was more easy-going. He played well, but was not terribly concerned with getting the best score. Talut played as he did everything else, with great enthusiasm, and no lack of talent. Danug had the same enthusiasm, but his skill was much less polished. Mamut played with some finesse, but his drives lacked power because of his advanced age. He had confessed to Ayla that he still played mainly because it was a good excuse to take a walk. Tornec was not such a truly avid Golvist as Talut or Tulie, but he enjoyed pitting his skill against the vicissitudes of the landscape. As for Jondalar... Ayla glanced back over her shoulder at the tall man whose eyes seemed to be looking at something inside his head. Interesting knot, there. She had seen that one before... when was it?

If only the ball had a more stable spot to sit... Jondalar furrowed. The unevenness of the ground made it hard to... what if it had some kind of thingy to sit on? What could... stone? nah... wood? hmmm... (things made from wood paraded through his mind). Suddenly he remembered a lamp-holder that his mother used. It was as if a light went on inside his head! The lamp-holder was made from a straight branch or very small tree-trunk with three branches coming out at about the same angle at the top. The round-bottomed lamp was held held by the three short branches, like a reversed tripod. With this lamp-holder set into a hole in the floor, Marthona had light right where she needed it for sewing and other fine craftwork.

Jondalar headed for the nearest shrubbery.

Ayla watched him suddenly turn away with apparent purpose. Of couse, she thought -- that is his "I'm thinking up something new" knot. She wondered what he would come up with now.

-------------------------------------------

Talut had looked for Jondalar when it was his turn, but Ayla told him that the Zelandonii was off inventing something. The playing continued --after all, they were just having a bit of fun and practice, not trying to win a tournament. Yet. He smiled when he saw Jondalar rejoining the group. A few leaves and wood-shavings clung to his clothing, and he held out a small object as he approached.

"Talut, look at this -- I think it will make it easier to hit the ball," Jondalar said. He looked pleased with himself, and happier than he had most of the time lately.

"Oh? How's that?" Talut responded. "What does it do?"

"It's to hold the ball up, give it a steady resting place," Jondalar answered. "See, it sticks into the ground, and the ball sits on top."

Talut scratched his head thoughtfully. "Well, let's give it a try. I suppose it might help," he said. Duffers like you, he thought.

Jondalar carefully poked his little device into the earth, and ceremoniously set a ball on it. Then, taking a club that Talut offered him, he positioned himself and, with great concentration, swung the club up and back. When it came down again, it struck the ball squarely. Talut watched in amazement as the ball flew up and away in the direction of the hole!

There was an awed silence for a moment, then everyone was cheering, talking, and laughing at once. They crowded around for a look at the marvelous doohickey. Tulie tried it out, then Talut. They had to admit it really did make a difference. But there were some reservations.

"I don't know," Tulie said. "Do you think that this widget will be allowed in the tournaments?"

"I don't see why not," Talut said. "It's no worse than stomping the ground first. Nothing like that odd club Chaleg turned up with once. That was -- well, I thought it was more of a joke, but he was seriously trying to cheat. They were right to bar him from playing."

Tulie nodded. "Not that he could hit the ball any better than -- aherm! harf!" She suddenly broke off with a cough that reddened her face slightly. "Aherf! 'Scuse me, still have a little of that winter cough, I guess"

"I'll make you some cherry-bark tea when we get back to the lodge," Ayla said.

"Well, now, Jondalar," Talut interjected (it looked like a good time to change the subject). "What do you call this handy little whatsit?"

With a thoughtful furrowing of his brow, Jondalar scratched his somewhat scruffy beard and considered the matter. "Erm, I hadn't thought about that, really. It was my mother's lampholder that gave me the idea. But... Hmmm... it's sort of like a trepied, but it's not... you could call it a tenant d' bal..."

"A t-- er... how about we just call it a 'tee', keep it short, you know?"

"Fine by me." Jondalar shrugged, and smiled, glad to be relieved of the problem. He was much better at making things than naming them.

For the rest of that morning -- and a bit of the afternoon, if truth must be told -- Jondalar was kept busy looking for the right sort of branches and making them into "tees". Everyone had to have one, and it never hurts to have spares. The first one had been getting a little frayed even before Tornec made it disappear in a carefree long drive. While carefully finishing off the top of the 23rd tee, he had another brilliant idea. Yes! Of course! No need to hunt for perfect branches --he could use any piece of wood. The top could be hollowed like the ends of spear-thrower spears. The ball would balance very nicely in the tiny cup, and he could use the same tools to shape it that he used for the spears.

It was the happiest day he'd had since Ayla first crawled into Ranec's furs.

--------------------------------

(many days later)
Ranec looked at the shaft that he had just finished carving. Or had he? He squinted a sparkling brown eye at the topmost wreath of abstract leaves. Mmm, just a teeny deepening of that line... ah, that's it. And just in time. He hastily stuffed the nearly-completed Golvo club into the mammoth-hide sack with the rest of them just as Ayla entered the lodge, chatting with Tulie about their prospects in the Summer Meeting tournaments.

"Ranec," Tulie said, with a smile, "you've certainly been hard at it lately. Have you made lots of carvings to trade? "

"Oh, um, yes," he replied, looking a bit uncomfortable. Ayla sensed that he was telling something that was not quite the truth... and he was a more reddish shade of brown when he looked at her. He was busily sweeping up a lot of bone shavings now. He certainly had had been making something, but there were no new objets d'art in sight.

After dinner, though, Ranec was back to normal, orbiting Ayla and uttering -- er -- Pleasantries -- galore. Ayla responded thinly, her mind not entirely on the matter at hand. She saw Jondalar staring at her out of a shadowy corner. He looked like Wolf when he had been naughty and was very, very sorry. Then Ranec put an arm around her, and Jondalar slunk off like a cowed, low-ranking wolf, headed for the horse-annex.

"Um, Ranec... I'd like to be alone for a while," Ayla said, looking down at her hands. She felt very confused. It would take her another lifetime, it seemed, to figure out all these conflicting and other-seeming signals of the Others. If only they could be more like the Clan.

Ranec reluctantly relinquished his heartfelt hold on Ayla. He sighed. She must be tired... all the preparation for the Summer Meeting and the daily Golvo practice on top of daily chores... well, once they were mated, he would certainly help her with those. And he would never have neglected her now if it hadn't been for -- he glanced over to where his secret present lay hidden -- Mmm, it would all be worth it to see the delight in her eyes... and, he-hee, feel it. He gave Ayla a fond cheek-rub and went to his own hearth, thinking happy, happy, happy thoughts. Mmm!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3