The sky was high, the clouds pale, and the heavens stretched clear for miles.
At the foot of Muller Snow Mountain, emerald grasslands rolled into the distance, dotted with wildflowers in a scene of peace and serenity.
Aguda waved the long whip in his hand, driving the flock toward a distant stream.
This Tulu tribe youth had just turned fifteen this year. By tribal custom, he was already old enough to marry, have children, and leave his parents to establish a new family.
Aguda had originally hoped to marry a girl from his own tribe, then spend all his savings to buy two Eastern female slaves and have seven or eight, perhaps ten children.
Yet the Tulu youth's dream had shattered more than ten days ago. The Tulu tribe had rebelled against Great Zhou and joined forces with several other tribes to raid Great Zhou's homeland.
Everyone had expected the tribal army to return with heaps of gold, silver, treasure, and women. Instead, they received a crushing defeat.
Of the seventy thousand warriors who had gone to war, fewer than forty thousand returned. Nearly half had been lost, and many of those who survived came back wounded. These days, white hemp hung from the tents of nearly every household in the tribe.
Only one of Muller's two brothers returned, and that one had lost an arm. The atmosphere at home was suffocatingly grim.
That was why Aguda had volunteered to take over the shepherding work, so he would not have to stay home and feel miserable.
He could not help turning back to look at the tribal fortress before the snow valley. Watching wisps of smoke curl up from within, he felt an especially heavy weight settle upon his heart.
Damn Zhou people!
Aguda clenched the whip in his hand