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f his face； but not his light brown eyes； which gave off a heavy sheen； like pieces of amber。
They had been hiding in their snow cave for some time already； and now they turned their attention to the gazelles grazing on the slope。 The herd numbered as many as a thousand； of which several large males； with long black horns； kept watch as they sniffed the air。 The others were grazing the land under the snow。
The area was a winter reserve pastureland for the Second Production Brigade； a defense line against natural disasters。 Measuring roughly twenty square miles； it was a large mountain pastureland where； pro—tected from the wind and relatively free of snow； fine grass grew tall and thick。
“Watch carefully； and you’ll understand；” the old man whispered。
“This is an ideal spot； open to the northwestern winds that keep the snow from piling up。 When I was eight years old； the Olonbulag was hit by the largest snowstorm in centuries； a true white scourge。 The snow covered our yurts。 Fortunately； under the leadership of some old—timers； most of the people and animals managed to get out。 When the snow was still only up to our knees； our several thousand horses were brought out to trample a path in the snow。 Then several dozen oxen tamped it down more； opening up a trough through which our sheep and carts could travel。 It took three days and nights to reach this pas—tureland in safety。 Here the snow was only a foot or two deep； allowing the tips of the long grass to push through。 Cows and sheep and horses； all half dead from the cold and hunger； made a dash for it as soon as it came into view。 As for the people； they threw themselves down onto the snow and wept； then banged their heads on the ground in thanks to Tengger； until their faces were covered
