No one noticed when Temulon left the village. They were all too busy preparing the new ship for launch. Temulon trudged through snow up the steep hillside to the trees, where she rested, gasping little puffs of mist. She was determined to find the Wall, to get through it, to see for herself if what her grandmother had told her was true. Rested, she moved on.

For weeks, search parties fanned out in all directions to find her. When, in time, a full moon had twice sailed the skies, even her brother Karlek gave up. The village mourned, believing Temulon had been dragged off and devoured by wolves.

When the moon grew fat for the third time since Temulon had left the village, a tiny figure throwing a tiny blue shadow staggered through snow blanketed trees toward a tremendous wall at the crest of the highest peak. Temulon’s overjacket and highboots had become collections of tatters. Her long pants and full shirt were hardly in better condition.

‘So, you are true,’ said Temulon, and she placed a hand on the great wall.

A terrible cracking and grinding of earth sounded. The wall stood firm, and all that was left at its base where Temulon had been standing were her footprints in the snow. Temulon herself was cutting a piece of cake for her grandmother.

Karlek stood at his grandmother’s grave. Wolves howled at the moon.