Even though spring had arrived, the land beyond the pass was still engulfed in a world of swirling wind and snow.
Whoo whoo whoo...
As the sky gradually darkened, the cold wind swept up more and more fine snowflakes, blinding a caravan of horses.
This group contained old and young, men and women. Some bore stains of blood on their bodies, looking weary and like a band of refugees, as if they were fleeing from disaster and being pursued.
Just as the wind began to rise, the group happened to pass through a hollow on the mountain that provided shelter from the wind.
A Naiman Han, his face weathered by the winds, his head adorned with a felt hat and body draped in a sheepskin coat, raised his horsewhip high and halted the group.
"Let's set up camp nearby," he said, "We'll stay here for the night and continue on our way once the snow stops tomorrow."
"Yes, Leader!"
"All right, Saihan Shaman!"
