off chance that he might find another ley. But there was never any sign of activity.
After the third or fourth pause, Big Hunter gave out a gruff snort and picked up his speed, moving through the forest with long, ground-eating strides. Little Hunter gave Kit a shove from behind that nearly knocked him off his feet, and Kit stepped up to double time. That was not fast enough, however, and soon he was having to trot just to keep pace.
This went on for a considerable time. When at last they slowed again, Kit was sweating and gasping and all but falling over. By his hazy estimate they were several miles from the ley line that had brought him to this world. If Wilhelmina were looking for him, she would not find him there. At first opportunity, he told himself, he would escape and make his way back to the ley and wait there as instructed. Kit keenly regretted having wandered off, but who could have foreseen being kidnapped by cavemen?
By now Kit was getting thirsty again, and footsore. During the next pause to sniff the air, Kit ignored his captors and knelt to drink. Little Hunter grew agitated and jabbed Kit with the butt of his spear a few times until the older one grunted a command that made his companion desist. Kit drank his fill, and when he was done, rose; Big Hunter stooped down and drank too—just a few mouthfuls slurped out of the palm of his wide hand, as if to be polite.
They moved on again, keeping the river on the left as they threaded through the undulating valley. And then, just as the light began to fail, Kit caught a whiff of a pungent stink: a rich, musky ripe scent, like he imagined a den of wolves might smell after a long, hard winter.
The three passed under a low-hanging bough and through a screening wall of bushes, and suddenly Kit was standing in a clearing amidst a collection of crude rounded domes made from branches pulled full-leafed from the surrounding trees and shrubs. They were home. Four primitives rose to greet the returning hunters; Kit saw their eyes flick to him, and all at once there arose a tremendous yowling of excitement. Five more creatures, all female, materialised, some emerging from the rudimentary shelters, others from the nearby wood, and all jabbering at once in what sounded to Kit like an excited, guttural yap.
One or two of the boldest primitives thrust forward and began touching him with little pats and prods. They touched his skin and hair and clothes. Meanwhile, the females formed a muttering, murmuring circle around him. The poking and prodding continued for a time, the chatter coming in waves, until one of the younger primitives, baring his teeth in a ghastly smile, picked up a stick and, in imitation of his elders, jabbed Kit in the leg.
“Ow!” Kit announced, not so much from pain as from the unexpected attack.
That response encouraged the youngster, so he stabbed Kit again, harder, with a sound that Kit could only interpret as laughter. This time Kit kept his mouth closed, which provoked a third attack and a rapid fourth. A slightly older creature joined in, giving Kit a firm punch in the ribs and then crying loudly for everyone to see what he had done—at which point Big Hunter, who seemed to be the leader of the group, loosed a low, rumbling growl that even Kit recognised as a command.
Instantly, all poking and prodding and chattering ceased. Silence claimed the clearing as the woodland swallowed the sound. Big Hunter pushed through the mob, taking charge of Kit with a proprietary gesture of control and possession: cupping a heavy hand to Kit’s head, then thumping himself on the chest with a closed fist. The others appeared to understand this, and the nature of the interaction changed; the whole proceeding became immediately quieter and more respectful.
In this simple act, ground rules were established that even Kit could not fail to understand. One moment he was a strange new animal that had been hauled in for observation and comment, and the next moment Kit was a guest. A new status had been claimed for him and boundaries established. He was not to be poked and jabbed with sticks; he was not to be yapped at or buffeted about for their amusement. Still, the others stared and murmured.
Ignoring the behaviour of his fellow beings, Big Hunter touched him on the arm