In the mornings, when the big flock had left the hürde and disappeared from sight, I drove my own flock to its pasture. The big flock always went uphill to the mountain ridge, whereas the hendshe went downhill to the mountain folds that were sheltered from the wind. But first, half the flock had to be untied from the höne, and the lambs and kids led out of the yurt one by one so they would not run around inside and perhaps cause damage. For the flock’s other half all I had to do was open the door of the small wooden shed and the young animals inside, which were not tethered, came out on their own.

The days of winter, which seemed so short to the adults, seemed long, infinitely long to me. I was not to play but rather to take the flock to its pasture, and I was told to watch the wind, the sun, and the grass, to watch how the animals reacted to them, and to watch how each of the animals behaved. It was also important to be on my guard against wolves and eagles. Should any appear, I was told not to be afraid and to grab quickly my shepherd’s crook, which I carried over my shoulder like a gun; I was to aim it at them, produce a bang, and scream loudly.

But the days of winter were not only long. More than anything, they were cold. My face and hands got particularly cold. It was strange, but people in the mountains did not wear gloves: gloves did not exist. Instead, our sleeves were long, and anything sharp-edged, cold, or hot, anything we could not touch with our bare hands, we grabbed through these long sleeves. Only toys—stones covered with hoarfrost—were to be fingered by your bare hand and touched by your skin so they could come alive and change into people and animals, into yurt utensils and other such things.

As a result my hands got cold. But what did it matter? Rather, I assured myself once again of how much I had at my fingertips and of how pleasant my life was. And besides, I had my glow stone, which I carried in my breast pocket like a little stove, a tiny sun, and which my freezing hand could touch and warm itself on any time. My right hand often reached into my breast pocket, warmed itself on the glow stone, and passed on the warmth to my left hand and my face.

The stone was the size and shape of a horse dropping, was smooth and purplish-black, and every morning was heated in the embers. It retained the heat for a long time, and when I arrived back home in the evening and took the stone from my pocket to put it aside, it still felt lukewarm.