Here came Lop-ear, that damaged ear dangling unmistakably by his head, running to meet her.

Their meeting was so vigorous, she was almost knocked over. They bumped their foreheads, ran in circles, defecated together, and spun around. He was like a reflection in a melt pond, a reflection of her own resurgent youth and vigor.

This is our time, she thought as she spun and danced. This is our summer, our day.

And it seemed perfectly natural that he should run behind her, rear up on his hind legs, place his forelegs on her back, and rest his great weight against her.

But she was not in estrus, and he was not in musth, and — for now — the mounting was only a playful celebration.

They faced each other; Silverhair touched his scalp and tusks and mouth.

"I missed you," he said.

"And I you. You won’t believe what Wolfnose showed me…" She began to recount all she had seen in the Plain of Bones, the ancient carcasses of mammoths just like themselves, swimming out of the ice after a Great-Year’s sleep.

But though he listened intently, and continued to stroke her trunk with his, she could see that his eyes were empty.

After a time she drew back from him. He reached for her again, but she pushed him gently away.

"Something’s wrong. Is it what Owlheart said, about having something of the Lost in you?"

"No. Or at least, not just that. I’m confused, Silverhair. I’m happy to see you, glad the spring has come again. Part of me wants to jump about like a calf. But inside, I feel as if a giant black winter cloud is hanging over me."

She scuffed at the ground, trying to retain that sense of wondrous optimism with which she had returned home. "I don’t understand…"

"Silverhair, if you were singing the Song of Estrus now — who would mount you?"

And with that question she saw his concern. For there were only two Bulls here who might come into musth: Eggtusk and Lop-ear. They’d fought once already; they might easily kill each other fighting over her.

Or over Owlheart, or Foxeye, or even Snagtooth, if their turn came.

Lop-ear said, "And even if we resolve our dominance fights without killing each other — even if all the Cows become pregnant by one or other of us — what then?"

"What do you mean?"

"What of the future? When Sunfire and Croptail and any other calves grow up — and themselves come into estrus and musth — who is to mate with them?" He spun, agitated, his trunk raised as if to ward off invisible enemies. "Already his mother is pushing Croptail away. That’s as it should be. Soon, in a few years, he will want to leave the Family and search for other Bulls, join a bachelor herd. Just as I did, just as Eggtusk did. But Croptail can’t join the Bulls, for there are no other Bulls. He can’t join a bachelor herd, for there is no herd — none that we have met for a long time, at any rate. And when he is in musth, there will be no Cows but his own sisters and aunts and cousins."

She reached out to try to calm him. "Lop-ear—"

But he spun away from her. "Oh, Kilukpuk! I have this stuff rattling around in my skull all day and all night. I want to stop thinking!"

She was chilled by his words, even as she strove to understand. To think so clearly about the possibilities of the future, of change, is not common in mammoths; embedded in the great rhythms of time, the mammoths live in the here and now. But Lop-ear was no ordinary mammoth.

She took hold of his trunk and forced him to face her. "Lop-ear — listen to me. Perhaps you’re right in all you say. But you are wrong to despair. When we were trapped by the fire and the runoff, you found a way to save us. It wasn’t a teaching from the Cycle; it wasn’t something the Matriarch showed you. It was a new idea.

"Now we are facing a barrier even more formidable than that stream. There is nothing to guide us in the Cycle. There is nothing the Matriarch can advise us to do. It’s up to us, Lop-ear. We have to seek out the new, and find a way to survive."

"It’s impossible."

"No. As Longtusk said, ‘Only death is the end of possibility.’ What we must do is look for answers where nobody has looked before."

"Where?"

She hesitated, and the vague determination that had long been gathering in her crystallized. "If Eggtusk is right — that the Lost have come to this Island — then that’s where we must go."

"The Lost? Silverhair, are you rogue?"

"No. Just determined. Maybe the Lost aren’t the monsters of the Cycle anymore. Maybe there’s some way they can help us." She tightened her grasp on his trunk. "We must go south again. Are you with me?"

For long heartbeats he stared into her eyes. Then he said, "Yes. Oh, Silverhair, yes. I’ll follow you to the End of the World—"

There was an alarmed trumpeting.

Silverhair released Lop-ear’s trunk and they both whirled, trunks held aloft.

Owlheart was running. "Wolfnose! Wolfnose!"

Silverhair looked back to the west, the way she had come.

Wolfnose, trailing Silverhair’s footsteps, had fallen to her knees.

Her heart surging, Silverhair ran after her Matriarch.

Silverhair, driven by guilt, was first to reach Wolfnose.

The old Cow’s belly and chest were resting against the ground, her legs splayed, and her trunk was pooled before her. Shanks of winter fur were scattered around her. Her eyes were closed, and it seemed to Silverhair that Wolfnose was slowly subsiding, as if the blood and life were leaking out of her into the hard ground.

She reached out and ran her trunk over the old Cow’s face. The skin looked as rough as bark, but it was warm and soft to the touch, and she could hear the soft gurgle of Wolfnose’s breathing.

Wolfnose opened her eyes. They were sunk in pools of black, wrinkled skin. "Oh, little Silverhair," she said softly.

"Are you tired?"

"Oh, yes. And hungry, so hungry. Perhaps I’ll sleep now, and then feed a little more…"

She started to tip over.

Silverhair rushed to Wolfnose’s side. Wolfnose’s great weight settled against her flank, slack and lifeless, and Silverhair staggered, barely able to support her.

But now the others were here: Lop-ear, Owlheart, and Eggtusk. Silverhair saw that Owlheart had, with remarkable calm and foresight, carried a trunkful of water with her. She offered dribbles of it to Wolfnose, and Silverhair saw Wolfnose’s pink, cracked tongue uncurl and lap at the cool, clear liquid.

Wolfnose’s eyes flickered open once more. She raised a trunk, so heavy it looked as if it was stuffed with river mud, and she laid it over Owlheart’s scalp. "You’re a good daughter, Grassfoot…"

The Matriarch said, "I’ll be a better one when you’re on your feet again."

Wolfnose shuddered, and a deep, ominous gurgling sounded from her lungs. Silverhair listened in horror; it was as if something had broken inside Wolfnose.

Wolfnose closed her eyes, and her trunk fell away from Owlheart’s head.

Owlheart stepped back, staring at her mother in dismay.

When Eggtusk saw that Owlheart was giving up, he roared defiance. "By Kilukpuk’s piss-soaked hind leg, you’re not done yet, Cow!"

He ran around Wolfnose and pushed his head between her slack buttocks. Then he dug his heels into the ground and heaved. The massive body rocked. Eggtusk looked up and bellowed to Silverhair and Lop-ear. "Come on, you lazy calves. Don’t just stand there. Push!"

Lop-ear and Silverhair glanced at each other. Then they braced themselves and pushed at Wolfnose’s sides.

Even after the trials of the winter — during which she had shed more fat than was good for her — Wolfnose was a mature Cow, and very heavy. Silverhair could feel Wolfnose’s ribs grinding as they shoved the slack body upward.

But between them, they managed to lift her off the ground. Wolfnose’s legs straightened out, like cracking tree branches, and her feet settled on the ground.