During the past two weeks we have been overwhelmed by three blizzards, which meant that none of us could go outside. This didn’t sit too well with Jhorhea, because when we were in the house I once called home, there was nothing much to do. I knew that she would rather have been outside, up at the canyon, looking down at the river, or yearning to cross the bridge.

I spent my time grooming myself, nursing my daughter, talking with Rhalhea, communicating with Kykherhenha. The one common subject was the return to Alharhan. After the first blizzard howled through the village and left everything white and bitterly cold, Jhorhea wanted to know when we would be going home, and Rheža echoed her words. I looked at Rhalhea, but through our whistling dragons, she told me that it was up to me. I told my daughters that there would be more than ten more months of what we call the snow season, and they didn’t like that at all. Jhorhea said she wanted to go home right now, because there was nothing to do here. She had no friends here, because she was a stranger here, a stranger on the planet of her parents, and of her ancestors.

What could I say? She had a point, of course. All her friends, both Alharhanian and Tereskàdian, were the children and the cubs living in the city of Treskebhar, on the planet Alharhan. That was where she and her sisters belonged now. I told her I would have to check the schedule we brought with us, and I would see when the next ship traveled back to Alharhan. In the meantime, she would just have to get used to the weather. I assured that dŵeshades usually lasted only about two or three days, and then the sun would come out, and we could venture outside again. How many storms will there be? she asked. I told her I didn’t know, but sometimes there were two or three in a row, and sometimes there was just one big storm. I couldn’t really give her a clear answer.

One evening, when the two older cubs were asleep, and Jhalhemha had fallen asleep on Rhalhea’s teat, I opened up the schedule, which gave the time and dates for travel between Alharhan and Tereskàdhar, and I found that the earliest we could leave would be Pešhŏrhoŵhenhashen 20th, which was thirty days in the future. Rhalhea and I looked at each other, and we were thinking of Jhorhea. Thirty days would seem such a long time for her, but there was nothing we could do about it. We had no control over when the ship came and when it left again.

Rhalhea and I decided that we would make sure to be at the spaceport on the 20th of next month. If we missed that flight, another ship would not come until about forty days after that. I am sure that Jhorhea will remind us to be at the spaceport every day.

I have just finished drinking from Kykherhenha, and am now looking out the window at the great expanse of white. If I were to go outside right now, I would sink into the snow up to my thighs. Luckily I don’t have to worry about catching any food, because the prey we had caught prior to dŵeshades’s arrival will last us for a few more days. After that, we will have to hunt again.

Kykherhenha suggests that we should visit one of the other villages before we leave this planet, but I could see no purpose in that. All the Tereskàdians I knew in this village had been murdered, and I was not familiar with the Tereskàdians in other villages. Apparently Kykherhenha talked with Keridhar, because a moment later Rhalhea turns to me and asks me what is wrong with visiting other Tereskàdians. We are not going to stay here by ourselves, in a dead village, for the next thirty days, she says. What about the cubs? Maybe they want to see other cubs. So she keeps telling me, and suddenly I feel like a khobharet that hadn’t eaten anything in days. So I tell her, yes, we will go to the nearest village tomorrow. I almost said today, but decided that there wasn’t much left of today.

The more I think about it, the more I decide that Kykherhenha and Rhalhea are right. I guess I want to stay in this village because I want to squeeze out some memories of my past, memories that have long since vanished. At night, when I’m curled up, asleep, I dream that the village is alive and vibrant again, and I don’t want to wake up, but when I open my eyes, reality tortures me again. I close my eyes again, but it is useless, because the morning light drifts through the window, and I know that the village is empty, empty of life and laughter, and joy and sorrow.

Are you crying again? Kykherhenha asks. I couldn’t deny it, of course. Tomorrow, I tell her, we are leaving. There is nothing more here for us.

Pešhŏtemharhashen. 6.489/Day 506