Erhi woke when the sun was at its zenith. Her stomach had shrivelled to the size of pea and her body shook with effort as she sat upright. She had made it back to her tent but she had little recollection of how. Her wet furs were piled up on top of one another at the foot of her matt. They stank of damp and mildew. She would be the only Mongol marching on Samarkand that smelt like a water rat. If she even made it to Samarkand, that was. She moaned with hunger and crawled to the opening of her tent, hoping to find some fresh snow to melt and quench her thirst. She knew what she was going to have to do, even though it pained her to admit it. She was going to have to cut Sabar and mix its blood with milk. This concoction was known as the Mongol's last resort and it had saved many a warrior in dire straits. The art was in drawing enough blood to give your strength, but not so much as to weaken your mare.

Erhi was so distracted by the thought of accidentally killing Sabar, that it took her brain a while to process the astonishing sight that greeted her outside her tent. Instead of fresh snow there was a pile of food. Thin strips of cured meat lay next to soft cheese that had been matured in the stomach of a sheep. There were also several bladders of airag, fermented mare's milk, and even a fresh bundle of hay for Sabar. Erhi hadn't seen this much food since they had left Karakorum. She quickly removed it to the inside of her tent and fell on it with a hungry abandon. Nothing tasted so sweet as a feast that followed on the heels of famine.

While Erhi had been sleeping, word had spread throughout the camp about the sound that split the night. The roar that had so terrified Erhi had been heard by a group of Mongol's scouting for firewood. When they went to investigate they had found Erhi wandering in a daze. A little way behind her they had found Muunokhoi, unarmed and equally as confused. After leading them back to camp, the rumours had started. Some said that the sound was a warning from Tengri, telling them not to stray too far from their ancestral homelands. Others claimed that it had been a band of lost souls, making their way to the peaks of the great Tien Shan in order to reach heaven. There were even those who claimed that the sound was a ruse invented by Muunokhoi to hide the fact that his men had run away, deserting the army to become bandits. For it didn't pass without notice that Muunokhoi had left camp with ten men and returned with none.

The one consistent element in all these rumours was the presence of a boy called Nergüi, the name that Erhi had given herself when she was found by the woodsmen. Although Erhi had been travelling with the army since Karakorum, this was the first time that she had been noticed by anyone besides Muunokhoi. It was as if she had simply appeared in the forest, like the wild son of the moon god Ata. There were those that whispered that Nergüi was the illegitimate son of the Great Khan, come to make his name on the field of battle. But this was dismissed as a tale fit only for fools and for drunks. Regardless of whether people thought that Erhi was the son of the Great Khan or just a nameless boy, they had left food outside her tent as an offering. All Mongols loved a good tale and many were thankful to have something to distract them from the interminable cold.

So Erhi made herself sick gorging on the food that had been left for her, and she spent the whole day resting in her tent, relishing the feeling of having a full belly. As she lay on her back, her hands resting on her stomach, she played over the scene from last night. Muunokhoi had been standing over her, spear at the ready and she had braced herself for the end. There was a flash of light, brighter than the sun, then that boy had appeared, the boy with the soft features whose face reminded her of betrayal. Unconsciously she curled her hand into a fist. Then there was noise, a tremendous sound that had shaken her body to the core. A part of her thought that it might have been a dream, brought on by hunger and exhaustion, but it had been too vivid to be imaginary and what's more others had heard it as well. Whatever it was, it was real.

A plan began to form inside her head. Tonight, when the camp was asleep, she would retrace her footsteps, taking care to make sure that she wasn't followed. Perhaps there would be some clue besides the riverbank, something to help her uncover what had caused that sound. If she could find the boy with the soft face then she could ask him. She could make him talk one way or another. Her mother had told her enough about men from Zhongdu to know that they would do anything to save their own skin. And she was a Mongol now, a warrior without remorse. Yes, if she could find the boy then she could unravel the mystery. But she had to be careful, Muunokhoi had seen what she had seen, and he was sure to be as curious as her. If there was one thing she knew for certain, it was that there was nothing more dangerous than a man whose pride had been injured.