They arrived with much hullabaloo. Just as they were taking their very last step, Arsylang seemed to lose his patience, which he had probably adopted only for my sake anyway. He charged at them and with his front paws climbed up on Brother and Sister, at which Torlaa let out a shrill scream while Arsylang howled and whimpered. With his body stretched and his ears flattened, he hung on to them and sniffed and licked them all over. Torlaa wouldn’t stop screaming. Father shouted to her: “Don’t worry. He isn’t going to hurt you!” But to no avail: she kept on screaming. I could also hear Brother Galkaan’s voice, but at least his was less a scream than an expression of pleasure and likely was meant to greet Arsylang. Yet even Galkaan seemed to find it unbearable to be licked by the dog’s tongue. He pulled away and raised his right arm, which had been around Sister’s waist, while his left arm clutched her ever more tightly. I was grateful to Arsylang for the turmoil he had caused because it shielded me from everybody’s attention which otherwise might well have been directed at me and which I could not have borne. By then Father had dismounted and walked up to me. He sniffed my forehead where the hair peered out, clasped my ice-cold cheeks with his lukewarm hands, and said: “Oh, my dear stupid little one, you’ve spent all day up here, haven’t you?” I wanted to say—wanted to lie—that we had only just arrived, but my tongue failed me. Perhaps the cold had crept into my tongue, but whatever the case may be, all of a sudden I was lifted off the ground, carried over to Brother and Sister, and held first in front of Sister and then in front of Brother so they could sniff me. And so they did, although with both it was just a brief sniffing and did not really compare with the sniffing that grownups gave you. But that was fine with me, as I was dying with embarrassment and made myself rigid and even closed my eyes when I saw their faces so close to me. I sniffed them back regardless: They gave off something foreign, something gloriously pleasant. It was the scent that came off the dargas and the elegant people from the country’s interior.

Then, fortunately, I was carried to Father’s horse and put in its saddle. Soon after, Father swung himself up as well. At last I felt relief and could now secretly watch the two. They had become pale and slim and very, very talkative: They talked almost as if they were competing, calling the rocks, slopes, hollows, saddles, and paths each by their name, and finding everything in its place. And when we rode past our small flock, which by then had left its wind-sheltered hideout and set out on its journey home, they also called out the names—which were mostly nicknames—of the yearlings together with those of their mothers. Arsylang, too, behaved strangely. He raced wildly in all directions, but always returned.