Dawn on the Snowfield

Winter in Xilingol always gave Erman a sense of death. Once the felt flap of the yurt was shut tight, the dim glow of the kerosene lamp vanished. Across the whole grassland, only the wolves' eyes shone. They said it was light reflected off the snow. Erman quietly opened a narrow crack in the flap. For the past ten-odd days, he had been the only one guarding this stretch of pasture. The horses were already resting, and he was so wide awake that a tense, cold sweat broke out on him. He suspected those two wolves would come again tonight.