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Manifest is the vigor of the khaan under open sky, through greening sea and lures of tall altargana. The long river valley is hemmed by hills, blocking the bulk of harsh windstreak. Driving the herd to a muster, Batu raises a rough howl, saturating the soil with his stream.

“Camp will be made here until the season turns.” In the vale, against the side-winding river. “Mark it well. Let all who cross the steppe know mongolia has come home.”

He waits for the return of others. He waits for Khatar. A counsel of heaven and earth deems their awakening here. Saranai's arrival confirms this, for the khagan's gifted physician would have been dismissed only for a grave cause. Seven months would find the steppe mourning their dead. But grief cannot ensue; there is only the work of rebuilding.

Eye is kept for Sayana and Tselmuun , the widowed noyakin. They have no harem to dig their shelter, no nokud to ride out and bring back game. These things he must do before returning to the tianlong— to be trapped in place, amid excess of ponderous possessions and pounded-wall pavilions.

In his absence, “Khatun, Oyun is to be heeded.” Only to his sister does the khaan speak of this relationship with the han. “The royal party is travelling. Their land will be under lighter guard for some months. Learn its entry points, but do not rush. We must not tread the same road which buried Nazgur.”