"Allel was a foolish old woman."

"And Teal returned there. He said he'd leave a trail for the rest of us. Maybe if--"

He wrapped both arms around her. "Erwal, my brother was crazy. He hurt you, fought with me... He lost his life for nothing But now it's over. He's gone, and--"

"What if he survived?"

"Erwal..."

She sighed, pulled herself away from him, and began to haul her leggings over her still-cold feet.

Damen sat in silence, staring at the fire.

As she pushed through the snow Erwal heard odd snatches of song. The melodies, soft, harmonized and sad, were fragmented by the wind, and at first she thought she was dreaming. Then Sura's teepee loomed out of the snow. Before it she made out a series of low mounds about as tall as she was. Occasionally a trunk would lift out of a mound, the two very human hands at its bifurcated tip twisting together, and slowly the songs grew clearer.

At last Erwal recognized the ancient chants of the mummy-cows.

Five cows, almost the village's full complement, were grouped in a tight circle about a sixth; the latter lay at the center of the circle, and Erwal saw that some viscous fluid had leaked from its bulk into the snow. She pushed back her hood. "Sand? Are you here?"

One of the mummy-cows lifted her head; under a cap of snow a squat, cylindrical skull rotated on a neck joint and plate-sized eyes fixed on Erwal. "...I amm-m hhere, Err-waal..."

Erwal fixed her fingers in the shaggy fur covering Sand's muzzle. Since Erwal's childhood, Sand had been her favorite. "What's wrong? Why are you gathered here?"

Sand moaned and scuffed with delicate fingers at the snow before her. "It iss-s Cale. We are... s-singing for her..."

"Singing? But why?..."

Sand closed her eyes.

Erwal turned to inspect the body at the center of the group. Cale was silent, utterly motionless, and when Erwal pushed her fingers through the fur she felt only a diminishing warmth.

How could this have happened? The mummy-cows rarely reproduced these days -- there was too little fodder for them to generate the growth required -- but they were virtually immortal. She walked around the fallen cow to the patch of moisture she had noticed earlier. She bent and touched the stuff. It was blood. Crouching, she probed upwards at the mummy-cow's belly, exploring the soaked and matted fur. There was a tear in the flesh, a gash at least two feet long that was sharp and clean; performed by a stone knife.

She took deep breaths of the chill air; then she forced herself to reach forward, lift aside the flap of cut flesh, push her hands into the glistening stuff inside the cow.