Then I knew that I no longer had a Dusky, that there was no longer any Dusky, not in the flock and not on the earth. Only a pile of meat remained, and that would not be there much longer either.

Grandma told me to drive the flock toward the mountain saddle around noon, and then to come home for some of the meat that by then would be cooked. But I did not go home, although I was hungry and had only the handful of rock-hard pieces of curd cheese that I carried in my breast pocket next to the glow stone. I did not want that meat. With horror and revulsion I thought back to the slaughter. I remembered details of Dusky’s end that I had not properly registered at the time, such as how urine had poured out after the hand disappeared inside the slit and pressed deeper and deeper, apparently searching for whatever it was that had to be severed.

The cold endured. The lambs born late in the fall could no longer walk or look for grass. Again and again they paused and just stood there trembling, each pressed against the others and withdrawn into itself. I shooed them apart and drove them on so that they would not freeze to death. I was terribly cold myself, but in contrast to the lambs I understood that I had to keep moving in order not to die from the cold. I also had the glow stone, which was now of real use: for me it was a small sun.

Arsylang walked behind me and seemed to cower as if lying in wait. From time to time our eyes met, and I noticed that he was waiting for a sign from me. But I could not find the strength to break the barrier that had come between us.

When I got home in the evening, I found the kettle full of meat. It struck me as insane that so much meat had been cooked, particularly since Dusky had had to die for it. Grandma, who had already lain down, wanted to know if the flock had not left me enough time all day for a quick run home. It had not, I agreed. But when I saw the steaming meat piled high on the platter with all its pieces clearly showing, I could no longer hold back. The smell was too strong, too enticing. Gone was the revulsion I had felt all day and even just then; my hunger was stronger. I greedily tore into the pile and gorged on the meat. It was strange, though, that the fuller my stomach grew, the duller my senses became, and in the end I was no longer aware that the delicious meat had come from Dusky, whose frisky, proud looks had delighted my eyes for so long, and whose glorious image I had lent a helping hand to extinguish.