CHAPTER 13

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For a moment he was grievously disappointed at having lost his dream, but soon a great happiness overtook him. Surely this was no ordinary dream, he told himself. The Great Spirit in his mysterious wisdom had chosen this way to make his favor known. Although Turgen longed to rush down the hill and share the night’s adventure with Marfa and her children, he didn’t--because the dream, for a reason he was at a loss to explain, seemed to belong to him alone.

Did Marfa notice that something of extraordinary importance had happened to him? If so, she gave no sign, for it was not her habit to question. Nevertheless, Turgen felt a sense of guilt that he should conceal anything from his kind friends.

The children especially might well have asked: “Turgen, why don’t you tell us stories any more? Why don’t you play the reed and sit by the komelek and smoke?”

For he did none of these things, being so preoccupied by his own thoughts and concerns. He went for his milk as usual, gave abrupt greetings, asked absurd questions which deserved no answers, and quickly departed.

The truth was, he had to admit honestly, that the family of rams had become dearer to him than anything or anyone.

At home there was more than enough work to keep him busy, for it was important that he make good use of what was left of the summer. Hay must be dried and stored for the rams, wood chopped to last a long winter, fish and game caught and packed away in a small cellar not far from the yurta--a hole dug in the ground where food stayed fresh summer and winter. He remembered the old proverb:

“What the summer gives, the winter will swallow.”

As a result of his dream he suddenly gave most careful attention to his housekeeping. Every day he swept the floor, and he polished the kettles and pots until they shone. He did this because, secretly, he cherished the hope that his wife and son would visit him again. Maybe--who knows?--the Great Spirit himself might condescend to drop in.

But always the rams came first. At least twice a week, in every kind of weather, he carried food to them. He fed them even though the mountains were still green with vegetation, because they were now more than ever necessary to him. Besides, the succulent grass which he gathered in the valley gave variety to their diet and they loved it. While the rams never came close to him but maintained a respectful distance, they showed no nervousness at sight of him, and this pleased him very much.

The summer, brief as a dream, had brought changes in the flock. The rams had taken on flesh, their coats were soft and thick and of a uniform brown except for tufts of white on the sides, under the groin and neck. The similar markings confirmed Turgen’s belief that they were of the same family. Warm weather and plenty of food had made them

## active, also; often, out of sheer high spirits, two grown up males

would lock horns in combat. And every day, it seemed, the lambs were inspired to new feats of inventiveness and daring.

The male lamb especially enchanted Turgen. Everything his elders did he tried to imitate, executing leaps that made Turgen’s heart turn over in fear. At times his impudent pranks brought him a sharp reprimand from the leader.

“The scamp!” Turgen exclaimed. “That one was born to get himself noticed.”

Soon, Turgen reminded himself, he must exercise still greater vigilance for with autumn hunters would be abroad in the hills. While he doubted that his superstitious neighbors from the valley would come near his yurta, stranger things had happened and he dared not count on it. To every hunter the rams were an irresistible attraction.

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