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“I … I’m sorry, Ayla I shouldn’t have run off like that”

“Sometioes farther”

“I’m sorry about that, too”

She nodded Courtesy again, she thought, custoainst Whinney and the horse dropped her head over the woman’s shoulder Jondalar had seen them in a similar pose before, when Ayla was upset They see satisfaction in stroking the colt, himself

But the young horse was too i, as much as he loved attention He tossed his head, raised his tail, and bounded off Then with a bucking juh asking hi the tension

“You were going to na tones If he didn’t name the colt, she most probably would

“I don’t knohat to name him I’ve never had to think of a name before”

“I never did either, until Whinney”

“What about your … son? Didn’t you name him?”

“Creb naend It was ends and stories, and Creb knew it I think he chose the name to please me”

“I didn’t know your Clan had legends How do you tell a story without talking?”

“The same way you’d tell one ords, except, in so than to tell it”

“I suppose that’s true,” he said, wondering what kind of stories they told, or rather, showed He wouldn’t have thought flatheads were capable of i stories

They were both watching the colt, tail out, head reaching forward, enjoying a good run What a stallion he’s going to be, Jondalar thought What a racer

“Racer!” he said “What do you think of na him Racer?” He had used the word so often in reference to the colt that it fit him

“I like it It’s a good name But if it is to be his, he should be named properly”

“How do you name a horse properly?”

“I’m not sure if it is proper for a horse, but I named Whinney the way children of the Clan are named I’ll show you”

With the horses following them, she led him to a draw on the steppes that had once been a riverbed, but had been dry for so long that it was partially filled in One side had eroded to show the horizontal layers of strata To Jondalar’s surprise, she loosened a layer of red ochre with a stick and gathered up the deep brownish red earth in both hands Back at the stream, she mixed the red earth ater to a muddy paste

“Creb rease, but I don’t have any, and I think plain mud is better for a horse It dries and brushes off It’s the na that counts You’ll have to hold his head”

Jondalar beckoned The colt was full of lively antics but understood the gesture He stood still while the man put an arm around his neck and scratched Aylathe attention of the spirits She did not want to make it too serious She still wasn’t sure if spirits were offended by the na Whinney had produced no ill effects Then she picked up a handful of red mud

“The naestures at the same time Then she smeared the wet red earth down his face, from the tuft of white hair on his forehead to the end of his rather long nose

It was done quickly, before the colt could wriggle out of Jondalar’s grasp He pranced away, tossing his head, trying to rid hiainst Jondalar, leaving a red streak on his bare chest

“I think he just na Then, true to his name, Racer sped down the field Jondalar brushed at the reddish smear on his chest “Why did you use this? The red earth?”

“It is special … holy … for spirits,” she said