"That’s it!" Eggtusk bellowed. "Hold her now!"

But there was no strength in those old legs. Silverhair staggered sideways as Wolfnose’s bulk slid against her body.

Eggtusk cried out, "No!"

It was too late. Wolfnose slumped to the ground, this time falling on her side.

Eggtusk began pushing at Wolfnose’s buttocks once more. "Come on! Help me, you dung-heaps! Help me…"

But Wolfnose could not stand again.

Eggtusk crashed to his knees before her. Wolfnose’s eyes, flickering open and closed, swiveled toward him. Eggtusk lifted Wolfnose’s limp trunk onto his tusks. He draped the trunk over his head and put his own trunk into her mouth.

A watching human would have been startled by the familiarity of his choking cries, and the heaving of his chest.

This was love, Silverhair thought, awed. A love of an intensity and depth and timelessness she had never imagined possible. She knew that she would be privileged if, during her life, she ever received or gave such devotion.

And she had never suspected it existed between Eggtusk and Wolfnose.

But Owlheart came to him now. "No more, Eggtusk." And Owlheart wrapped her trunk around his face.

Lop-ear was at Silverhair’s side.

"Oh, Lop-ear," Silverhair said, and her own vision blurred as fat, salty tears welled in her eyes. "If she hadn’t walked with me all that way to the Plain of Bones — if I hadn’t been so careless as to rush her back, to leave her behind so thoughtlessly — all I wanted was to get back, and—"

"Hush," he said. "She wanted to take you to the Plain."

"I could have said no."

"And treated her with disrespect? She wouldn’t have wanted that. It’s nobody’s fault. It is her time." And he twined his trunk in hers, and held her still.

Wolfnose lifted her trunk, shuddered, and slumped. Her breath sighed out of her in a long growl, like a final contact rumble.

Then she was still.

Eggtusk rocked over Wolfnose. He nudged her head with his. He placed his trunk in her mouth, and her trunk in his, and intertwined their trunks. He even walked around behind her and placed his forelegs on her back, as if he were trying to mount her. And he raised his trunk and trumpeted his distress to the empty lands.

Before the end of the day, Owlheart led all the Family to Wolfnose’s body for the Remembering. The sun was low now, and it painted the Earth with gold and fire. Eggtusk, his trunk drooping as he stood over the body, was a noble shadow in Silverhair’s eyes, the stiff hairs of his back catching the liquid light.

The calves both stared at the body. Little Sunfire’s trunk was raised in alarm.

Foxeye tapped at the calves with her trunk. "Watch now," she said, "and learn. This is how to die."

Silverhair found herself staring too. The loss she felt was enormous, as if a hole had been gouged out of the sky.

Owlheart stepped forward, and scraped at the bare ground with her tusks. Then she picked up a fingerful of earth and grass and dropped it on Wolfnose’s unresponding flank.

Silverhair reached down, ripped up some grass, and stepped forward to do the same.

Soon all the Family followed Owlheart’s lead, covering Wolfnose’s body with mud, earth, grass, and twigs. Eggtusk kicked and scraped at the soil, sending heaps of it over the carcass. Even the calves tried to help; little Sunfire looked comical as she tottered back and forth to the fallen body with a blade of grass or a scrap of dust.

As they worked, Silverhair felt a deeper calm settle on her soul. The Cycle said this was how the mammoths — and their Cousins, the Calves of Probos, the world over — had always honored and Remembered their dead. Now Silverhair felt the ancient truth and wisdom of the ceremony seep into her. It was a way to show their love for the spark of Wolfnose, as it floated across the river of darkness to the aurora, leaving the daylight diminished.

When they were done, the mammoths stood for a little longer over the body, and they swayed restlessly from side to side, the younger ones joining in without thinking.

Then Owlheart turned away, and quoted a final line from the Cycle: "She belongs to the wolves now."

She led the Family away. Eggtusk walked at her side, still desolate, his trunk dangling limp between his legs.

Silverhair looked back once. The mound of Wolfnose’s body looked like the yedoma within which she had seen the emerging, ancient corpse.

Suddenly she saw this scene as it might be Great-Years from now. She saw another mammoth, young and foolish as herself, come lumbering across the plain — to discover Wolfnose’s body, stripped by time of flesh and name, emerging once more from the icy ground. It was like a vision of her own life, she thought — as intense as sunlight, as brief as the glimmer of hoarfrost.

Silverhair sought out Lop-ear. She stroked his musth gland with her trunk, but he shrank back, oddly.

She turned her face toward the south.

He hesitated. "Now?"

"Yes. Now."

"Shouldn’t we tell the others?"

"What for? They would only stop us."

She began to walk. Resolutely she did not look back.

After a few heartbeats she heard his heavy footfalls as he lumbered after her. She hid her grim satisfaction.

Once more, their walk took them many days.

They passed through a valley flanked by eroded mountains.

It was a valley of water and light. Gently undulating meadows fell away to a central river, which was slow-moving, wide and deep, meandering through a sandy floodplain. To the west the river’s numerous tangled channels shimmered in the low sun. Above them the valley sides rose up to become dramatic peaks, the white light blazing off the ice that crowned them. The basalt walls, their sheer rock faces shattered by centuries of frost, had eroded into narrow pinnacles that stood against the sky. Every ledge was coated with orange lichen, nourished by the droppings of geese, whose cackling calls echoed down to the mammoths.

There was little snow left on the valley floor now, and trickles of water, cool and fresh, ran from the remaining snowbanks. But the ground was still bare, shaded rust-red, ochre, and russet; of the lush vegetation that would soon cover the valley there was still little sign.

The first bumblebees and butterflies were appearing in the air.

Silverhair suffered her first mosquito bite of the year. She snapped at the troublesome insect with her tail, but she knew that even if she reached it her effort was futile; millions of its relatives would soon be emerging from the silt at the bottom of ice-covered ponds, where they had spent the winter as larvae.

The beauty of the valley, the return of life, the calmness of their situation: all of this, as the long day wore on, was having a profound effect on Silverhair. She could feel the flesh and fat gathering comfortably on her bones, her winter coat falling away. Her body responded deeply to the season, surging with oceanic warmth.

Somewhere within her, seeds were ripening, as if in response to the death she had witnessed. It was estrus; she was thrilled.

She knew that Lop-ear, too, was ready. As he walked he kept his head held high, his trunk curled. He seethed with irritability and urgency. He dribbled musth from the temporal gland at the top of his head, and he left a trail of strong-smelling urine wherever he walked. He was even making a deep rumble, a sound she had heard before only from much older Bulls. But he seemed consumed by his own inner turmoil and ill-defined longing, and when he spoke to her it was only of their greater concerns: the strange encounter with the Lost that may await them in the south, the possibility of bringing the Family to these richer lands, the disturbing, nagging fact that they were finding no recent signs of other mammoth Families anywhere.