The pale morning sun stretched its weak light over the faded meadows, painting everything in a muted glow that hinted at both promise and despair.

  The men gathered near the entrance, yet there was no sign of Befal. Jozma the Father, exasperated, snapped,

  “Go to their hut and bring them here before the others wake!”

  One man hurried back from the children’s hut, breathless and panicked.

  “They’re not there… they’ve gone.”

  Color drained from everyone’s faces.

  Jozma’s voice turned sharp with anger:

  “Ah… you foolish little ones… where have they gone? Everything… ruined!”

  Amid his shouting, Befal and Kima appeared in the distance, approaching the tribe.

  Earlier that night, Kima had dragged Befal out of the tribe by force. Befal yanked his hand free and shouted,

  “What are you doing?!”

  “We’re leaving,” Kima said calmly. “Doesn’t everyone say our tribe lies at the end of the mountain path? We’re going there.”

  Befal’s voice rose in desperation:

  “Didn’t you hear? The wolves will tear them apart before we even reach the tribe!”

  Kima tugged again, but Befal pulled back sharply.

  “Have you lost your mind? Do you even hear me?”

  “I hear you!” Kima shouted back. “But how do you know the wolves are heading that way? They are not certain. And suppose you reach there first—what will you do? You’re weak, just a child. Why are they sending you?”

  Befal’s eyes blazed with resolve:

  “It’s better to become wolf food than live forever blaming myself for the destruction of our tribe. But what difference does it make to you? Your tribe will remain here.”

  Kima gritted his teeth.

  “I swore to protect you. And I will.”

  Befal gave a bitter, almost mocking laugh.

  “To whom did you swear? To a dead man? To a tribe already torn apart? For you, only honor matters.”

  He turned his back and headed toward the tribe.

  Kima fell to his knees.

  “You are the only thing left of my tribe!”

  Pressing her hands into the damp earth of Anarika, she whispered:

  “Befal… you are my tribe. If you are gone, I will have no tribe in this world.”

  Tears fell freely, dripping into the half-wet soil.

  Befal paused, thought for a moment, then knelt before Kima. Placing his hands gently on either side of her, he rested his forehead against Kima’s and spoke softly,

  “I have to go. You know that. This is my destiny.”

  Kima’s sobs echoed across the silent plain.

  Jozma the Father shouted angrily:

  “Where have you been? Hurry up!”

  Befal was placed on a log. They tied him to it with a rope, attaching the other end to the young Khamous on either side.

  Jozma turned to Befal and said:

  “You cannot control him. You are only a passenger who will go with him. When you approach your tribe, tear the rope with your paws, separate from Khamous, and move toward your own people. We will follow behind and come to aid your tribe.”

  The sound of wolves echoed from afar. Jozma struck the back of Khamous, who, grazing, panicked and began moving.

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  Uncontrollably, Kima climbed onto Befal’s back and ran, crying:

  “I will follow you! I am right behind you, Befal!”

  Soon, they could no longer see each other; only the wind carried Kima’s cries to Befal.

  After a few moments, the plain fell silent, broken only by the pounding hooves of the terrified Khamous heading toward the sea.

  Befal had never seen this frozen land like this before. The mountains rose through the clouds, moons hung on one side of the sky, the sun on the other, the half-yellow grass and dark wheat fields attracting thousands of black cranes. The sight was so mesmerizing he could not look away.

  On the mountain slopes, a carpet of purple flowers glimmered like jewels upon the emerald earth. Befal, stunned by the unparalleled beauty, thought to himself:

  “If I die today, I will have no regrets.”

  By late afternoon, Khamous reached the larger herd and stopped. Observing the herd up close was even more magnificent: black bodies with golden collars around their necks, white horns, and piercing blue eyes. When he looked at their chests, he saw a red spot resembling a beating heart, evoking an indescribable sensation.

  Befal thought:

  “Have these been the most miraculous moments of my short life?”

  He took advantage of a moment to rest on a bench, only to be startled awake by the wolves reaching the herd and the panic of the Khamous. The wolves’ howls filled the air.

  The herd bolted, carrying Befal with them, moving so fast it felt as if he were flying. He clung tightly to the log, thinking:

  “At any moment, it could snap, and I will be thrown.”

  Suddenly, the herd approached a ravine. One by one, the Khamous leaped across it. It was Befal’s turn, and in a single instant, the young Khamous lifted its front legs and leapt high, carrying Befal into the air.

  Befal screamed involuntarily from fear and excitement. The magnificent jump carried them both off the ground, suspended in the air. The young Khamous struggled under Befal’s weight.

  Unfortunately, at the last moment, they hit the ground. Befal fell hard onto the cold earth, but only with minor scrapes. The Khamous lay in pain, its leg broken, moaning in a corner. Befal was lucky to survive mostly unscathed.

  He ran toward the injured Khamous, realizing he could do nothing to help. The pitiful animal writhed in pain, looking at him with pleading eyes, as if it knew these were its final moments.

  The howls of wolves grew closer. Befal’s hands trembled; he knew he could not escape their claws. Then an idea struck him: predators follow the scent of blood. If he could distract them with food, he might have time to escape.

  Placing his paw on the Khamous’s neck, his hands shook. He could feel his own heartbeat in his throat. He had never taken a life before. He remembered Kima’s words:

  “The first time you take a life, something inside you dies, Befal. You do not only kill the other; a part of yourself dies as well.”

  The wolves’ howls drew near. Desperate, Befal looked toward the moons, hoping for a miracle. Tears ran down his face as he pressed his trembling paw harder on the helpless Khamous’s throat. Something inside you will die, Befal!

  His tears flowed and groaning he shouted:

  “Perform a miracle… please… do not abandon me…”

  The wolves could now be seen. In one moment he pressed his claws into Khamos’s throat, and a sudden light flashed from the Khamous’s eyes, and a single tear from Befal fell onto its face. Rising, he quickly followed the Khamous’s tracks. The wolves’ jumps and ferocity were audible. Befal ran, sobbing, never looking back, feeling a vast emptiness open up in his chest.Befal ran sobbing and did not look behind him, while a vast emptiness had formed inside his chest.

  Hours later, the scent of the sea reached him. At first, he thought it was an illusion, but then the sea appeared beyond the emerald plain, covered with violet and purple flowers. Seeing it, his legs went weak, and he fell to the ground. He could not stop his tears; it was as if they flowed to find their way into the sea.

  Several times he rose and fell again, each time moving faster, repeating the effort. He had to reach the tribe before the pack of wolves.

  Climbing the hill, he saw the round, mud-brick huts spread across the emerald meadows. The sky stretched blue, meeting the sea, where a small piece of ice drifted slowly. In the east, where the sun rose again, the mud-brick huts lay peacefully asleep. The black wheat swayed in the wind, producing a pleasant rustling sound, and the plains were carpeted with violet and purple flowers, stretching all the way to the sea.

  Befal ran down the hill as fast as he could, screaming the names of Etna and Eema. In an instant, several men and women leapt from the huts, staring at him in astonishment.

  One of them exclaimed:

  “It’s Befal… the child is alive? Could it be?”

  Another shouted:

  “By the moons, it’s really him!”

  Their cries brought Etna and Eema out of the huts. Befal finally reached the tribe and, on the verge of unconsciousness, collapsed into the arms of one of the Etna. Everyone gathered around him.

  Befal cried out:

  “The wolves… they’re coming… but it’s not only wolves… no, there’s something inside them… skinwalkers… be careful…”

  A commotion erupted.

  “Wolves? What wolves?” one asked.

  “What are skinwalkers?” another questioned.

  “Where has this child been all this time?”

  Jozma hurried through the crowd and reached the child. Bending down, he asked, wide-eyed:

  “What are you saying? You saw them yourself? skinwalkers?”

  Another voice asked:

  “What are skinwalkers? What is this child talking about?”

  Jozma, his eyes filled with terror, said:

  “If what he says is true, we must prepare immediately. They are demons, creatures from the heart of darkness! I haven’t heard their name in years, but I know they come here to slaughter. Hurry! Hide the children in the huts and tell them not to open the doors for anyone unless they chant the opening song five times.”

  Panic swept through the tribe. Everyone ran in every direction. Befal was placed in the central hut among the other children.

  Exhausted and wounded, the boy tried to stand:

  “No! I won’t stay here!”

  Jozma roared in anger:

  “You cannot fight! You must stay here!”

  Before he could resist, the hut doors were closed. Befal and twenty other children remained inside. The sound of other huts being secured echoed around them. Two of the children braced the heavy door with sturdy sticks, while the others huddled in fear in corners.

  Befal, exhausted and covered in the Khamous’s blood, lay on the threshold, collapsing to the ground, unconscious.