Kima spoke firmly, her words slow and deliberate, whispering to Befal:

  “Pull yourself together. These people, this tribe, saved us. Ah… the Moons have shown us mercy. Why can’t you recognize their kindness?”

  She fell silent for a moment, lowered her head, then looked into Befal’s eyes.

  “My dear Befal… our tribe is here now, among the mountains. These are our Imas and Etnas.”

  Gently, she rested a hand on Befal’s shoulder.

  Befal averted his gaze and lowered his head. A few tears slid down his face and danced to the ground.

  A few hours later, after eating a few cranes and a small tiger, everyone had retreated to rest. Kima and Befal leaned against the wall of a hut, and Kima spoke excitedly about her day. She turned to Befal and said,

  “Can you believe it? Tomorrow I’ll go hunting too. They’ll take me with them. Oh Moons, thank you… I can become the Kima I once was. Oh Moons, thank you for your grace… Befal, we are saved.”

  Befal looked at Kima’s face and asked,

  “Are we really saved?”

  Kima remained silent for a few moments, staring into Befal’s eyes. Then she said,

  “We must go on. What else can we do?”

  Befal changed the subject:

  “Who is that man? The one I keep seeing?”

  Kima replied,

  “Father Jozma? He’s the oldest person I’ve ever met. Can you believe he’s lived through more than sixty winters? Even the wolves blinded one of his eyes. Did you see his face?”

  Befal asked in astonishment,

  “Wolves? Those legendary creatures? They don’t exist.”

  Kima said,

  “Oh no… they exist. Here they are no myth. Just like in the night stories—big as tigers, heavy as bears, yet incredibly agile. They don’t hunt alone; they move in packs. Ten… or even more. At night their howls pierce the air, sending shivers through your body. Listen… can you hear them?”

  Befal sharpened his ears. From the distance came the sound of wolves howling.

  Life in Anarika had never been easy.

  Silence reigned in the mountains. Everyone rested in their huts when two small feet began to move on tiptoe. Quietly, they slipped past the guards, crossed low snowdrifts, and left the tribe behind.

  The weak sun struggled to light the sky when Befal found himself at the foot of the mountain. His heart raced, his breath uneven. He sat on a stone and gazed across the vast, half-emerald plain.

  He thought to himself:

  “If I move away from the mountains, I’ll reach the sea.”

  So he headed in the opposite direction.

  He walked for hours. Everywhere he looked, he saw nothing but a white plain, emerald carpets spread across it. His legs weakened, exhaustion overcame him. Cold slowly crept into his body, and his eyes grew dim. Yet the thought of home lit a small flame in his heart, forcing his tired body forward.

  The image of home and familiar faces warmed his chest. He repeated to himself,

  “I must go… home is waiting for me.”

  He kept looking back to make sure he was moving away from the mountains and walking the right path—until the mountains disappeared from sight. He thought he had gone so far that he could no longer see the cold, white peaks.

  Filled with joy, he quickened his pace—when suddenly all his hopes collapsed.

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  A mountain stood before him.

  He screamed,

  “No… no… that’s impossible! I was moving away from the mountains!”

  When he reached the mountain’s base, his legs—once driven by his heart—gave out, and he fell to his knees. Crying, he shouted,

  “What do you want from my life, mountain?! Oh Moons, let me return home… Moons, I only want my tribe…”

  Through his sobs, a hand rested on his shoulder. When he turned, he saw Father Jozma kneeling beside him, hand on Befal’s shoulder. Befal felt a sudden refuge, collapsed into his arms, and wept for his tribe.

  Hours later, the two sat silently against a rock, watching a flock of cranes in flight. No words were spoken until Father Jozma broke the silence with his rough voice:

  “I once lost my tribe too. Do you know what I remember most from that day? The cranes… just like today, I sat there exhausted and broken, my body covered in the blood of my people, while the cranes flew above, as if everything were normal. Only inside me had a deep hollow formed.”

  He continued,

  “Look at the cranes… Life flows like running water. Don’t let your wounds block its path into your heart.”

  Befal watched the cranes move across the sky. Something tightened in his throat, cutting off his breath. He inhaled deeply.

  Father Jozma asked,

  “Are you ready to return home? Back to the tribe in the mountains?”

  Befal gave a faint smile and said,

  “Let’s go home, Father.”

  The days passed heavily for Befal. He felt lonelier than ever. At times he closed his eyes and saw the sea behind his eyelids.

  The new home was warm and welcoming. The new Imas and Etnas received him kindly, yet Befal could still sense the scent of the sea from miles away.

  For Kima, everything was improving. On her first hunt she brought down a crane, and on the next she struck a decisive blow to a tiger’s eye. Her talent and strength set her apart. Just as a diamond shines among grains of sand, Kima could not help but shine.

  One day, after finishing a satisfying meal, Kima headed toward the hut and found Befal curled up in a corner—frail, pale, and lying on the ground. She realized she had not seen him at meals for several days and quickly understood that he had not eaten for some time. She returned with a piece of meat, sat beside him, placed it before his eyes, and said,

  “Eat. How long do you plan to go without food?”

  Befal did not respond.

  Kima said,

  “Don’t tell me you think you’re the real Anan Befal. You’ve heard his story.”

  With effort, Befal replied,

  “Etna never finished it… he was going to, but the tigers—”

  Kima said,

  “Oh yes… Do you want me to tell you?”

  Befal turned his dull gaze toward her and waited.

  “I will,” Kima said, “but first, eat something.”

  Befal put the meat into his mouth and swallowed with difficulty. Kima lay down beside him, staring at the ceiling, and continued,

  “How far did you hear the story?”

  “Up to the point where Anan Befal was chosen by the Khamos,” Befal answered.

  Kima said,

  “Oh yes… You know, children cannot properly use their claws and teeth until they have seen ten winters—but he was different. At five years old, he made his first kill. By the time he was ten, he could face a tiger. Can you believe it? His stature surpassed all men, and he was stronger than the strongest among them. No one could match him.

  By fifteen, he had become the tribe’s most beloved and greatest hunter. But something within him was wrong. He would sit for hours by the sea, staring at it, as though something beyond the waters was calling him. A turmoil lived inside him, stealing his peace.

  Then, in the sixteenth winter of his life, he awoke from a long sleep after seeing a strange dream. He gathered the elders and the dream-seers and told them what he had seen:

  ‘I saw myself among the mountains, gazing at a sea advancing toward me. First, the Moon of Birth rose from the sea and grew larger and larger until it filled the sky. Then the Moon crossed the heavens and came to rest behind me. After that, three more moons appeared and took their place behind me—but the fifth moon remained behind the sea.

  In the silence of the water, beneath the dim light of the Moon of Death, a man stood on the far shore, calling my name. With every step I took toward him, the moon grew larger—until I woke before I could reach him.’

  The interpreters and the elders were struck with terror. No one dared to speak its meaning aloud, yet all knew the truth: the moons were calling him beyond the sea, and death was waiting there. They concealed the interpretation, but the dream did not release Anan Befal.

  Then the Khamos came, and one day Befal left the tribe with them.

  No one saw him again until late in the month of Phanamos, when he returned—nothing but skin and bone. It was clear he had eaten nothing for months. His bones pressed visibly beneath his pale skin; his eyes appeared larger, and his fangs longer than ever before.

  They tried to give him food. They knew he would soon fall into the Binding Sleep, and that Anan Befal could not withstand it. But he refused to eat and asked to be placed upon the greatest Khamos. Everyone knew that even the strongest Khamos could not carry an Anarikan man.

  Yet he had starved himself for months and traveled across the land with the Khamos—from sea to mountain—so that he could ride them and cross the frozen sea upon their backs.

  On the final day of Phanamos, as the Khamos departed, Anan Befal—mounted upon a Khamos and overtaken by sleep—looked upon his tribe one last time and whispered,

  “Move, magnificent beast. Carry this weak Anarikan to distant lands.”

  And they vanished slowly into the mist and snow.

  Hundreds of winters have passed since the day Anan Befal left. He was the first and only one to cross. One day he will return—the day the world will no longer sleep.”

  Befal stared at Kima, eyes wide, mouth open.

  Kima glanced at him and said,

  “So, do you want to ride the Khamos too? At least tonight, you’ll sleep with a full stomach.”

  Befal looked at his hands and realized he had eaten every last piece of meat. Both children laughed, and for a brief moment, their laughter filled the hut.

  Night fell, and both children drifted into sleep…

  When a gentle hand woke Befal.