Father, who through all this had been fi geting with the seams of Brother’s and Sister’s tons, went over to his horse. Then they set off. Finally, Mother was able to sprinkle the milk that she had kept ready in her ladle all this time after the parting riders. I was still squatting and had turned only halfway to see what was going on behind me. One moment I followed those who were leaving and the next, those who were staying behind. Arsylang continued to howl, but his howling did not grow louder. Suddenly I noticed a small bright sphere of tear hanging off the lower rim of one of his small dark eyes. I had never before seen Arsylang or any other dog cry—I did not even know that my Arsylang, or any dog, could cry like me, like any human being, or like a mare or a yak. The sphere of tear dropped and disappeared in the frozen snow. I needed to comfort him, so I moved closer and stuck my freezing hands into his shaggy neck hair. Suddenly I felt how violently he was shivering, and it made me shiver, too. The need to sob and to shudder in protest at all that was happening in this world against my will overcame me. It was so overwhelming that all my good intentions could no longer hold back the tears that had already filled my eyes and were blurring my vision. And so I cried, and in crying, I knew that I, too, would have to go away one day. I wanted to stay among my mountains, to guard my flock and become a herder as Father was and as everybody had been who lived before him in our world. I wanted to stay with Arsylang: staying with him was the least I could do after all he had done for me. And I wanted to have a yurt of my own in which I could live with Grandma so I would never have to leave her. And finally, I had to keep an eye on my parents since I could see how much they depended on me doing my share of the work and simply being there: I was their youngest, their most beloved child, and in the end I would have to take care not only of Grandma but also of them.

The day was hard. The cold that had lingered from the previous night continued to sting. Pale and distant and small, the sun was too weak to break it. The world seemed empty as it glittered with hoarfrost, and I felt abandoned. As a companion, Arsylang seemed inadequate to me, a mere substitute, and I sensed that I was not enough for him either.

The big flock appeared earlier than I had expected at the upper end of the path which—bright and wide like a glacier’s arm and surrounded by a half circle of rocks that formed a ridge above the ail as sharp as a knife’s edge—seemed to plummet from the saddle toward the hürde. But this only depressed me further. Had everything, each and every thing, fallen into disarray on this cold, empty earth that glittered with hoarfrost?