She was immersed in vast layers of noise: the crack of thunder, the howl of the air over the rock, the relentless scraping of the dust. Her sound impressions broke up into chaotic shards. She lost her deep mammoth’s sense of the land, and she felt lost, bewildered.

And — unlike the storm they had endured in the Gouge — this wind was dry, as dry as the dust it carried, and it seemed to suck the moisture from her blood.

The mammoths were around her, and she felt the tension of their muscles as they fought the storm. But she knew she was burning her last reserves of strength just to stay standing against the pressure of the wind.

Autumn was beside her, trumpeting: "It will take half a day for this storm to wash over us, for it stretches deep into the southern lands."

"I did not imagine it could be so bad. If we stay here our bones will be worn to dust…"

"We must find shelter." That was Thunder, his Bull’s growl almost lost in the howl of the air. "There is a crater rim, some way to the south."

"We must try," Icebones said. "But how will we find it?"

"The storm comes from the south. If we head into it, we will find our ridge."

Autumn rumbled, "It is hard enough just to stand. To walk into that horror—"

"Nevertheless we must," Icebones said. "Thunder, you go first. The next in line grab his tail. If anyone loses hold we stop immediately. Thunder, you will not have to lead for long. We will take turns."

Thunder said, "I will endure—"

"We will do it the way I say. And be wary of the blood weed." Trying to project confidence, she trumpeted, "Let us begin. Let’s go, let’s go…"

To break their huddled formation, to expose themselves to the wind, was hard. No matter how she tucked her trunk under her face, no matter how tightly she squeezed shut her eyes, still the dust lashed at her as if it was a living thing, malevolent, determined to injure. The calf was deeply unhappy, trumpeting his discomfort into the wind, continually trying to push his way back under his mother’s guard hairs.

As if from a vast distance she heard Thunder’s thin, readying trumpet cry.

A few heartbeats later, Spiral began to move, her steady footsteps determined, her buttocks swaying. At the end of the line, Icebones, keeping a careful hold on Spiral’s tail, followed behind.

They walked into howling darkness. Icebones could tell nothing of the land around her, smell nothing but the harsh iron tang of the dust that clogged her nostrils and mouth. It was a shameful, selfish relief to shelter behind Spiral’s huge bulk.

Spiral stopped abruptly. Icebones’s head rammed into her thighs.

Icebones felt her way along the line to sniff out the problem.

It was the calf. Wailing, terrified, Woodsmoke had slumped to the ground.

With much cajoling and lifting by the strong trunks of Autumn and Icebones, Woodsmoke finally got to his feet. But Icebones could feel how uncertain his legs were, as weak as if he was a newborn again.

They managed only a few more steps before the calf collapsed once more.

Icebones had the mammoths form up into a wedge shape facing the storm, with one of the adults at the apex, and the calf and his mother sheltered at the rear.

"His strength is gone, Icebones," Breeze cried through the storm’s noise. "He is hungry and thirsty and I have no milk to give him. We must stay here with him until the storm is over."

"But," Thunder growled, "we cannot stay here. This foul dust sucks the last moisture out of my body."

"We can’t stay and we can’t go on," Spiral said. "What must we do, Matriarch?"

Battered by the storm’s violence, blinded, deafened, her own strength wearing down, Icebones knew how she must answer. And she knew that she must test her new Family’s resolve as it had not been tested before.

…But I am just Icebones, she thought desperately. I am little more than a calf myself. Who am I to inflict such pain on these patient, loyal, suffering mammoths? How do I know this is right? Oh, Silverhair, if only you were here!

But her mother was not here. And her course was clear. She was Matriarch. And, like generations of Matriarchs before her, she reached into the Cycle, the ancient wisdom of mammoths who had learned to survive.

"Autumn, Thunder — do you think we could reach the crater rim, if not for the calf?"

Thunder seemed baffled. "But we have the calf—"

"Just tell me."

"Yes. We are strong enough for that, Matriarch."

Icebones said gravely, "The mammoth dies, but mammoths live on."

Spiral understood first. She wailed, "Do you see what this monster is saying? She wants us to abandon the calf. We must go to the crater rim, and save ourselves, while he dies alone in the storm. Alone."

"No!" Breeze wrapped her trunk around her fallen calf.

Autumn spoke, and there was a huge, impressive sadness in her voice. "Daughter, you can bear other calves. Others who will grow strong, and continue the Family… You are more important than Woodsmoke, because of those other calves."

"Kilukpuk will care for him," said Icebones. "If a mammoth dies young, it is easy for him to throw off his coat of earth, and to play in the light of the aurora…"

"There is no aurora here," Spiral said bleakly.

"Would you sacrifice him, Icebones?" Breeze trumpeted. "Would you, mother, if this was your calf?"

The moment stretched, the tension between the mammoths palpable.

This was the crux, Icebones knew. And Autumn was the key. If Autumn maintained her resolve, then they would abandon the calf, and go on. And if she did not, they would all die, here in this screaming storm.

Autumn sighed, a deep rumble that carried through the storm. "No," she said at last. "No, I could not abandon my calf."

And Icebones, with a deep, failing regret, knew they were lost.

Breeze clutched her calf, and her sister came close, both of them stroking and reassuring the calf as best they could.

"I am sorry," Autumn said, huddling close to Icebones. "I did not have the strength. It is hard to be mammoth."

"Yes. Yes, it is hard."

"We have been toys of the Lost too long…"

"Let us huddle. Perhaps we will defeat this storm yet."

But she knew that wasn’t possible. And, from the tense, subdued postures of Autumn and Thunder beside her, she sensed they knew it too.

The continent-sized dust storm continued, relentless, cruel, oblivious to the mammoths’ despair.

The dust clogged her trunk and mouth, until she was as dry as a corpse. And still the storm went on, so dense she no longer knew if it was day or night. Perhaps she even slept a while, exhausted, her body battling the storm without her conscious control. I tried, Silverhair. But they just weren’t ready to be a Family — a true Family, able to face the hard truths as well as they easy ones…

No. I was not ready. I have failed.

But it hardly mattered now. After a few days, when they were reduced to scoured-clean bones, nobody would ever know what happened here.

She felt a new, hard form beside her. She turned sluggishly, trying to lift her trunk.

She sensed a stocky body, hair that was dense and slick, crimson against the storm’s dark light.

"You are Cold-As-Sky," she said, her voice thick with dust.

The other did not reply.

"There is no water here."

"No," said the Ice Mammoth, her voice somehow clear through the storm. "This land is very old. Even the deep-buried ice has sublimated away."

"But you live."

"But I live. I carry water in my throat, and in a hump on my back, enough to let me survive the longest dust storm."

"My trunk is clogged," Icebones said softly. "All I can taste is dust. Cousin, give me water."

Cold-As-Sky ignored her. "This is the truth of this world. This is how it was before the Lost came here. The planet itself is trying to kill you now. You are meant to die. Jut as we were meant to die. Did you know that?"