Tsering herded his goats across the Changthang plateau. A mischievous kid tugged his sleeve and ran off.
The kid sprinted past him and vanished over a rocky rise. Tsering chased after, boots kicking up dust.
When Tsering crested the hill, both were gone. Only wind whistled through the stones.
Tsering called for his goats. Their faint bleats drifted from everywhere as the sun hung low.
He waited. Then a blue butterfly drifted down and settled on his nose.
He sneezed it away. Then he saw his goats — huddled together on the far ridge.
Tsering walked slowly behind them, calling steadily as they moved forward.
The blue butterfly fluttered along in his shadow all the way.
The goats trotted faster as the yurts came into view. Tsering smiled.
Home at last. The blue butterfly landed on a stone by the doorway and rested its wings.