Meg's happiness was suddenly gray with the cloud of heart-hunger. She dropped to her knees beside the older woman's side.
"You must not go, O Mother!" she sobbed. "There is much to be done, and only thy wisdom can achieve it."
The pale hand of the tribal guardian sought, found, Meg's golden head.
"You speak the truth, daughter mine. There is so much to be done. But already you know how to lead our Clan upward to the stature of the Ancient Ones. With your mate at your side—"
There was a concerted gasp from the assembled Women of the Clan. The Mother, hearing, smiled wanly.
"Yes, thus openly do I approve that of which, from the beginning, my heart approved. Listen, my children—Meg was right. In her pilgrimage she learned, as did I many winters ago, that the Gods were Men. Men like Daiv. She rebelled against the Law that said a Priestess might not mate—but she was right in her rebellion.
"List, now, for with the all-seeing eyes of one on the threshold of death I tell you truth. It is right that Women should mate with Men. There should be no Workers, no Warriors, no breeding-mothers. Our Clan should own no stud-males, pale chattels like our kine and horses. All this is wrong."
Lora, her harsh-lined face sagging with confusion, cried, "But, Mother—the Wild Ones!"
"Never again must we prey upon the Wild Ones. Do you not see that the Gods avenged our doing so when they permitted Meg to be captured in one of the pits we dug?