To the west of the dragon settlement, green ridges jut towards the sky. Between the mountains and the flat grassland are a few barren hills. A small camp trimmed with pelts and meat has been raised on the south-eastern slope of one; the kin traveler reposing against a huangshan hull. His legs are stretched long before him, a hollow bladder mid field-dress held there. Quietude keeps thick fur drawn about his face, but a gleam of eyes can be seen looking over the fells.

“Out in the backcountry,
Altargana with her wings,
Balanced on her elbows;
My blood.”

A ghost is on his hillside. An ethereal likeness. The nomad is sitting still as the pine, but on his tongue is the mongolian song and in his eyes a fair light.

“She grows in the earth,
Altargana with all blessings,
Balanced on her back;
My soul.”