All our horses were tame, but this one was the tamest. Even when we moved and Scholak Dorug was loaded, we could let go of his reins and drive him before us with the oxen. Now he stood there with my saddle on his back, with a piece of felt serving as a blanket beneath it that reached all the way down to his belly. Was he about to be loaded? Outside, there were two dung baskets sitting where none had sat before. The previous night, one had contained desgen roots, while the other one, empty and upside down, had been covered with Dusky’s skin, which had been put outside, frozen stiff, to dry in the cold. But now both baskets stood empty next to the stone altar for smoke offerings, diligently lined up as if after a day’s work. I also saw signs of a fourth horse. They were tracks left by small hooves, the front ones apparently having been shoed recently.

Without having to be reminded, I washed my hands and even my face. Usually I avoided washing my face in the morning by claiming that I would have to scrub it with snow many times during the day to avoid frostbite when I was out with the flock. In reality, however, I scrubbed my face very rarely—only when my cheeks or my chin, or the tip of my nose, were actually close to being frostbitten. After such a quick snow wash, at first I would briefly feel colder than before, but as soon as the skin dried, I would feel warmth or sometimes even a little rush of heat, as if a tiny animal were stirring in the pores of my skin.

There was freshly cooked meat even though the meat from the day before could not possibly have been finished. There were even grains of rice floating in the broth, which on any other day would have made me delirious. I was soon full and left right afterward for my flock. Nobody made me do so, but then nobody tried to stop me, either. Nobody said anything to me that mattered in any way. And nobody told me what had happened to Grandma and where she had gone. Maybe it was better this way; after all, nothing would have felt more terrible than a conversation about Grandma. But at the same time I wanted badly to know what had happened to her and where she was now.

I caught up with the flock in Gysyl Göschge after it had already turned around. Arsylang was running along its far side. When he saw me, he ran toward me. He reached me at full speed, drew a narrow circle around me, threw himself on the ground in front of me, and whimpered quietly. Did he know? What a question—of course he knew!

Maybe he had even been there with her?

“Arsylang! Where’s Grandma?”