Sect Year 3 · twelfth month · night of day 2 · the thirty-fourth life: the Tolu uplands, his eighth year
That year the snow came early. It came off the ridge in the first light. Meanwhile, the herd was still spread across the upper grass, and it came sideways with the wind behind it, fine and hard as sand. Edrik heard it before he saw it, a hiss across the grass like dry reeds drawn over stone. The grey dog stood up stiff-legged and barked at the ridge. By the time Edrik had the ewes bunched against the rocks, he couldn’t see the far side of the valley. The white had taken the lower meadow altogether.
The ewes had begun to push toward the rocks and bawl at one another. The young ones panicked first, running in small circles with their heads up. Edrik went among them with his arms out wide, the way Ulla had shown him, turning them back toward the bunch without ever touching them. He didn’t hurry. Hurrying made them run.
Ulla’s voice came up through the snow from the lower path. “Down,” she called. “Down the scree before it closes.”
“The lower path’s clear.”
