Time passed, and Mother must have had second thoughts. Her threats gave way to pleas. In the end she got up and went to look for the ewe that had escaped from her. She was staggering. I would have liked not to have seen her stagger, but I couldn’t take my eyes off er.

That night was long and filled with struggle. The sheep were obstinate. The clouds were sinking lower and lower. The world turned as dark and as narrow as if we were stuck in a hole. And all was silent. I felt as if we had been abandoned with the stupid, stubborn sheep, condemned to sing forever in an empty, dark world.

The following night snow fell as expected. But we had not expected the sun that afterward shone on the snow-covered world. Already in the morning the snow began to melt on the southern slopes of the cliffs. Delicate, dark edges appeared around the rags of snow on the blue rock, spread, and eventually touched. “Any wind now, and we’ll be done for!” Father said, his voice breaking. Mother cowered and whispered a prayer, her eyes turned to the sky. There were fear and remorse in her eyes.

But the wind never came. The sun continued to burn almost as if it were summer. A bluish light first hung above the snow, then sank down and became one with it. The air simmered. Here and there tiny rills appeared along the southern slopes and grew by the hour. We stood speechless with surprise, anticipation, and hope, taking it all in. Toward evening, mountain and steppe were a checkered black. Two more sunny days with no wind, and there would be no snow left on the slopes facing the sun.

Tracks began to appear in the snow. Mice, rabbits, foxes, stone martens, wild cats, and wolves had run across it in all directions. The tracks were fresh, but not a living thing could be seen. How odd!

Arsylang sniffed them and rushed ahead, his senses alert. Whenever he hit upon wolf tracks, he barked and growled, and sometimes scraped the snow with his back paws, tossed it in the air, and urinated with excitement. There weren’t that many wolf tracks, but they were the largest, as the sharp wolf claws had pierced the fresh snow. Somewhere I had heard that in years rich with snow, wild animals grow strong claws and hooves.

Whenever Arsylang got excited, I did too. I would look hard in the direction of the tracks and try to spot the animal that had left them. But I never did.

I wished a stone marten were close by or a fox, or even a wolf—yes, ideally a wolf. Then Arsylang would tear after it and, naturally, catch it. I had no doubt that Arsylang had not only the courage, but also the speed and the strength to defeat any enemy whatsoever. Wouldn’t that be something! How I would tell Brother and Sister! And in the summer I would get to tell the other ail children as well. My Arsylang would become as famous as Gysyl Galdar, Hüreldej the Warrior’s legendary dog. Even the grown-ups would say: “Schynykbaj’s youngest, what a great guy he is with his dog Arsylang!”