With each passing day, the animals grew thinner and thinner, and the flock smaller and smaller. The cold and the storm continued. Then the birthing began. Each morning we checked the flock. Animals whose bellies had dropped and looked sunken were separated out and left in the hürde. Sometimes we had to finger their udders. Full, warm udders and reddish teats were a sure sign the ewe would lamb soon. In spite of our checks, Father came home most evenings with his felt bag full and heavy with new-born lambs.

Because she had to look after the lambing ewes and their new-borns, Mother was no longer able to watch the second flock with me. I wanted to continue taking the basket, but Father and Mother would not let me since they were afraid I might stumble in the storm and get choked by the basket sling. So I gathered düüleesh and horse droppings into piles instead, and now and then Mother came to pick them up.

Almost every day I had to skin dead animals. It was very hard with the fully grown sheep. They were emaciated, and their skin clung tight. One day in desperate straits I invented an easier process for myself: while pulling and tightening the skin with my left hand, I pounded it with the glow stone in my right hand. Normally, we skinned only large animals that way. Soon I refined the process: I told Arsylang to bite into the skin and pull it tight, which he quickly understood and carried out with great dedication. Now I was able to pound the tightened skin with the stone and then, when my arm got tired, stomp on it with my foot, which was, however, not quite as effective.

During those storm-tossed days I taught Arsylang another trick. One evening yet another animal had died on the way home. I lugged it along until I ran out of strength and had to leave it behind. This was not supposed to happen. During the night it would freeze rock-solid, and that would destroy the valuable wool that Father’s life depended on. His head would roll, as he put it. Worried, I realized Arsylang might be able to carry the animal. I pointed at the dead sheep and said: “Arsylang, fetch!” He bit into the shaggy fleece. I lifted and heaved it on his neck, and Arsylang started to walk. He was strong. Every child was familiar with the saying: “Dogs get lucky during the dshut, and lamas during the plague.” Although it wasn’t my four-legged companion’s fault, it was true in our case.