Their manger was made of fog walls and paler reverberating reflections of light on snow. At the bump of a head or the shove of a mule’s shoulder, even the darkest places were sometimes light. A boulder was a wing chair, then stone again, then nothing. An animal’s hide or sleeve was doubled by triple shadow when two cones of light swung together, then a third. All the lights flew off at sharp sounds. A true plunk then splash caused the animals to prick their ears, to turn, but the plunk and splash was not repeated. Ella tried to light a lantern but the fuel was gone. A wick could do nothing alone. She lit a candle and set it on the rock and it made its own small room of light.

“Where’s the dun?” Dan said.

“Maybe he turned back,” said Bowman. “He was aimin’ to.”

Ella had tied her paint to a branch. Brown patches of his hide floated in the fog, independent. She stared. He wasn’t a horse anymore but a puzzle with half the pieces gone. She tipped her head. The room was smooth white, an ever-moving ceiling with branches in it. This was spring. She’d never have guessed it. Fat roots dove under snow.

“What’s for dinner?” Ella asked, sitting so still.

“Bread and water,” Dan said.

“Bed for me,” Saul said. “Too tired for food. Too cold.” He was chewing something hard to chew.

“What are you eating?” she said.

“Jerky.”

“What kind of jerky?”

“Bed, bread, dead,” said Bowman.

“It’s a famous verse,” Saul said. “Old Testament.”

“It’s Shakespeare,” said Bowman.

“What kind of jerky?” Ella said. “I asked you.”

“You know what kind of jerky it is.”

“How would I know?”

“You brined it, smoked it.”

“I’d never imagined the ending of this,” Dan said. He was sitting against the tree, his filthy knees before his face. The patch in shadow. His light on Bowman’s face.

“No,” Saul said. “A surprise.”

“There’re no laws here,” Dan said.

“There’s no law anywhere,” Saul said. “The law is just lines on paper, words.”

“There are no words here in this valley,” Dan said.

“I can’t even think the word ‘laws’ here.”

“I can.”

“But you still only think in words,” Saul said. “I got back to something deeper. I’ll keep to animal thought, myself, from now on. You try it. Go back to it. All else is translation. All translation is never right, all approximation.”

“Where’s Maul?” said Dan.

“The wall tent,” Ella said.

“What about it?” Saul said.

“I’m very tired,” she said.

She stood when no one stood. She found a tarp in a sack by the yellow horse. She flung the tarp out but found no poles, found the blue chair in a black hole. She found a cooking pot. Bowman went for wood, foot dragging but not much.