I informed Margarita during breakfast that we would be going out for a bit.

"Where are we going?" She took a big bite of bread and looked slightly melancholic.

I glanced at the old man briefly before turning my attention back to Margarita.

"Hatgal."

"What?" She had stopped chewing.

"We're going to Hatgal to buy a sheep shearing machine and order wood for the ranch's fence."

Margarita looked at the old man. After that, she finished the rest of her food in two bites and attempted to speak in a calm voice. "Then you're not coming back, Kano? How far is Hatgal, do you know?" With that, she pushed her chair back and hurried outside. Thirty seconds later, Eto came running back, remembering something.

I enjoyed airag every day after my meal. That's why Margarita hadn't brought it out that day. She mentioned that they hadn't made airag that day. I smiled and poured some for myself from the jug. I intentionally dawdled today, and she looked at me with warmth in her eyes.

"If you're ten minutes late after sunset, I won't let you in the house," the old man warned.

After a brief visit upstairs to her room, Margarita returned wearing her most beautiful tarlig, the traditional Mongolian summer dress—pale pink in color. It was a knee-length gown cinched at the waist with a belt, adorned with a colorful design around the neck. I noticed that Margarita wore a new pair of black, fitted jeans and dark brown leather boots. Two braids emerged from under her hat, cascading over her shoulders. I was taken aback by her appearance! Margarita had applied lipstick to her lips, matching the color of her dress—pink! I couldn't have imagined she had such a thing.

Margarita made a concerted effort to get me onto her horse. She intended to ride Esperanza while I rode Armonia to Hatgal. I had learned from the old man that Hatgal was the largest town for hundreds of miles around, west of the ranch. However, the route was quite intricate. Setting out at seven in the morning, a sense of fresh beauty enveloped us both. While we occasionally engaged in conversation, much of the time we listened quietly to the wind and took in the unique scenery on either side of the road. Margarita had packed lunch and dinner in Armonia's saddlebag. I, too, had brought along my tent and sleeping bag, just in case we needed to stay overnight in the unfamiliar city and couldn't find accommodations. After the initial twenty miles of grassy plains, the ascent began. Here, I struggled to keep up with Armonia. I suggested to Margarita that she continue on alone while I caught up to her at the top. However, she insisted on staying with me and engaged in light-hearted chitchat. She had to keep the horse at a slow pace, almost a walk, to accommodate me—I was out of breath. The seven-mile uphill stretch took an hour and a half. But at least we wouldn't be descending, meaning we wouldn't need to climb again on our return trip. That was some good news. Fifty more miles to go.

"Sir, hold on. We didn't turn, but continued straight along this road. What happens then?" Margarita broke the silence with this question.

"It depends on what you want."

"What do I want?"

"Tell me, what does your heart desire?"

"What does my heart desire?"

I quickly glanced at her. No, there was no trace of humor on her face. Her jaws were clenched as she stared straight ahead, the road stretching out before us.

"Maybe it doesn't want to stop at all. But I probably know what you're getting at. Vladivostok is Russia's easternmost major city, directly east of Altentsetseg. Anna's village is somewhere around there."

"You guessed wrong. I didn't even know that."

"That's fine. Then maybe you'll want to keep heading east until you reach the Sea of Japan. After crossing the Pacific Ocean, you'll land in America. Unless you stop at the easternmost tip of the Americas, you'll cross the Atlantic again. Perhaps you'll want to head straight to the westernmost tip of Spain. But you won't get to your home, Seville, unless you veer a bit south. Will your heart still want to take the eastern route?"

"I want to. I really do." Margarita's enthusiasm was palpable.

"Then what else? Crossing Central Europe's forests, mountains, and rivers, traversing Kazakhstan's great peaks, you'll return to Altentsetseg. Do you think your heart will want to stop then?"

"No."

"Then your heart is either foolish, mad, or both—a great thing to be such a mad fool. It's a feat to want to live through the same orbit twice. Back to the Sea of Japan, Pacific Ocean..."

"Then my life will remain confined to this border between east and west. Take care, sir! My home, Firminbaishin, Anna's village—all in the same straight line!"

I found myself equally surprised by these thoughts.

"Well, señor, are you a mad fool?" She suddenly asked after a moment of silence.

"If you think I'm a crazy fool, then I am." And if..."

"And if I were to tell you that you're actually a madman? Un poco loco?"

"I have no objections at all, señorita. There are many advantages to being bestowed the title of a madman."

"What advantages?" Margarita looked at me with wide eyes.

How many are there? But the greatest one is that no one can best you. A simple soul like me could ask for nothing more.

"Do you... do you really, truly enjoy solitude, Senor T'an?" The hazel magic in her eyes seemed to sparkle in sync with the first intense rays of sunlight of the day!

"Sometimes, señorita, when I find someone as wonderful as you, I enjoy walking with them day and night."

Shee smiled and pulled the hat's brim down over her eyes.

The Selenge basin gradually receded behind us as we headed in the opposite direction. Leaving the vast plains on the other side of the river, we ventured onto a narrow mountain trail. Occasionally, we encountered gers along the way, or if I got confused about the path, I'd stop and ask a rider for directions to Hatgal. Despite the old man's detailed explanation, the GPS on my speedometer sometimes acted up, but it wasn't much of an issue in finding our way. We climbed another substantial hill, and as usual, Margarita matched my pace as we ascended. The trail was narrow, barely touched by human feet, surrounded by lavender flowers.

I turned my head to look at her. She was focused on the trail.

"Margo!"

"Margo?"

"Has anyone ever called you 'Margo'?"

"Only you," Margarita smiled.

"Well then, Margo, listen!"

"Listen, señor!"

"You look particularly beautiful today, like an aristocratic Spanish romantic."

Margarita burst into laughter. I knew that would be her reaction.

"Sir, have you forgotten that I am a Spanish lady? And I'm not entirely sure what you mean by 'aristocratic,' but I think my Nana would have given you a few punches if she heard that!" She laughed again, that hearty laughter of hers, and I listened. Her smile was infectious, not spreading laughter, but tranquility.

So many small things could ignite this girl's enthusiasm! Anyone who comes into contact with her is showered with the damhanga stream of the Hatujla River of joy!

As we distanced ourselves from Selenge, the barren Meteronga Hills came into view. They had recently shed the snow that clung to them, and they remained pale white throughout winter. It was intensely cold there. After the seven-kilometer climb, exhaustion had set in. Recognizing my state, Margarita motioned to stop. On the slope of an unnamed hill, we sat beside a bush at the roadside and had a bite to eat—some lightning and water. Although Margarita was as hungry as I was, she played it safe, fearing she might run out of her share.

Looking southwest from there, we could see a large reflective patch of sky far below. It was the legendary Lake Khuvsgul. This Mohini was the younger sibling of Lake Baikal, the deepest lake in the world, located just two hundred kilometers northeast. As the afternoon wore on, the sunlight's reflection cast a sparkling blue hue over the reservoir's water. We stared at it for quite a while. Mongolia's largest freshwater lake, our destination lay there. Hatgal was a small town filled with hungry souls of Lekpar. Here, people didn't seem to worry about much—understandably, the cold from the north was a concern. Men spent their days and nights fishing on boats to catch fish. Family-oriented women tended to their children and cooked various types of fish, awaiting their husband's return in the afternoon.

It was as if the town had been built with absolute reluctance. The small houses were constructed without much planning, just placed conveniently. The entire Hatgal town seemed like a large circus tent whose owner had refrained from putting up any signs to indicate where the tent's entrance was, or where the performers' tent stood. The concept of a ger in Mongolia, which I had come to understand as a lifelong home, was redefined for me upon seeing Hatgal. Even Margarita seemed quite surprised by the haphazard appearance. I gathered then that Hatgal wasn't one of the few true cities of the nomadic Mongols. The lake, Lake Khuvsgul, its water, and the fish it yielded seemed to be the main draw for the handful of people tethered to this particular address. Everyone in the town knew about each other's lives, and the friendly relations were palpable. Emerging from a long winter, they were coming back to life. This desolate wilderness had little connection with the outside world.

It's heartbreaking now, after all these years, to think about how that small town, isolated and unpeopled, could alter the trajectory of my life. Tears swell within me when I contemplate what I lost within the waters of that lake. Memories of those vibrant spring afternoons tear at me. If only I had known what was going to happen that day! Yet destiny wields its hand heavily. Every individual is a part of a grand game, unaware that they are playing it in some corner or the other.

The two of us, two unwitting participants, wandered through that small town in northern Mongolia that afternoon with deep contentment in our hearts. I let Margarita handle all the arrangements. I walked behind her, much like I used to as a child when I went to the market with my mother. The part of the town nestled at the base of the mountain slope was populated with householders' residences. Margarita inquired about where to find a sheep wool cutting machine, a shearing machine. Her queries were met with immediate responses. Everyone was eager to help, informing us that Mr. Chinua's shop across the lake had what we were looking for. A few people had made the journey from Ulaanbaatar. However, before we could find the shop we sought, Margarita's attention was drawn to a colorful shop at the base of the slope. The teenage girl working at the shop was equally colorfully dressed. It took me a moment to realize that it was a clothing store. This was amusing! Just by looking at Margarita, I knew that, like any girl in the world, her excitement was beginning to mount and her eyes were widening. I raised an eyebrow at her, and she laughed!

"It won't take long, señor, trust me!"

It's hard to believe, but I won't try to convince you otherwise. Go on, take a look.

"Thank you, sir! You're quite clever! You know there's no point in arguing with me. You know, I had a big fight with my grandfather to buy me a makeup kit and some hairbands! All my cosmetics for the past four years, can you believe it? My mom had a drawer full of junk back in Spain! But don't worry, I'm not complaining about my grandpa. I came here with just one dress, and he bought me so many clothes, I can't possibly wear them all. Grandpa bought this tarlig last summer from a distant city. Isn't it beautiful, sir? Even though it's a bit big for me. Dadu said he'd buy me another pair of jeans only after the ranch loan is paid off. So now I'll buy blue jeans."

As she chatted away, she eventually came back to where I was waiting.

The teenage shop owner's face lit up as if the moon had graced the sky upon seeing Margarita. I had to stand there helplessly, listening to their senseless conversation for a good ten minutes. Margarita picked out a new shade of lipstick and something for her eyebrows. With all my money already in my pocket, and the main purchase still pending, the Mongolian girl managed to strike a deal that she would take those items on our way back. She suggested that we might be able to save some money that way. To my great relief, she finally said, "Alright, señor, let's go to Senor Chinua's shop or oooh..."

"Do you know about bangles, Margo?"

"What's a bangle?"

Girls in Bangladesh wear them on both hands. They're circular, disk-like things that you slide onto your fingers. If they're glass bangles, they're worn one after another in layers. So when they move or walk, they make a jingling sound! Some people even like the noise to be louder! There are also gold or silver bangles that are usually worn in pairs on both hands.

Margarita was incredibly intrigued by what I said! She was excited as if she'd burst! She started asking question after question about where to find these bangles, expressing her disappointment at not having any even though she wanted them. She insisted that one day she would definitely wear bangles.

"One day I must wear bangles, señor! And I'll jingle them as much as I want!"

"If you wear bangles, you'll have to wear a saree."

"Saree! Bangles! What a lovely combination! That would be amazing, wouldn't it, señor?" The Spanish girl clapped her hands together like a child.

Yes, it would be wonderful. But let's focus on Chinua for now.

Once we reached the lake's shore, someone pointed us to Chinua's shop. It was a two-story wooden house by the lakeside. Its colors were a mixture of blue, white, brown, and green. The shop exuded a fishy smell. It was stocked with fresh produce, but I couldn't spot any plastic items. Everything was made of clay, wood, and brass, haphazardly arranged in the small, shack-like interior. The shopkeeper was lounging on the front porch. Mr. Chinua had an appearance that resembled someone from outside Mongolia. People from across the border often came to visit Lake Khuvshgul. Later, I found out that there were two inns in the town. Strangely, both of them actually belonged to someone. Business greed had been channeled towards other ends. If both inns were full, people would take in guests in their own homes. They didn't mind, and in fact, they took pride in offering visitors a firsthand experience of the native way of life.

Mr. Chinua was a businessman through and through. As an adult, he'd made a significant journey, covering thousands of kilometers, to bring this useful tool to the small town. It was quite an achievement, Margarita acknowledged. I told myself that I would have to take the initiative to haggle a bit. I had done a fair amount of research on this machine before coming here. It was a pricey item, said to have only recently become available in this region. Let's see how much this man is willing to lower the price!

"How long do you intend to hold onto that, sir?"

"I always like to overprice foreigners, but since you mentioned you're related to Otgonbayar, you'll surely get a discount! I've had many dealings with the old man."

I had been standing at a distance, but I now stepped forward. He didn't seem to change his demeanor when he saw me. Margarita got the machine for three hundred thousand Tugriks from him. She had become a shrewd buyer!

I smiled. I said to Margo that I'd take over the conversation. Although I'd never been particularly skilled at this, I was willing to give it a try. I knew this man's weak point. There weren't many expensive buyers in this small and stagnant town, so they wouldn't want to let us slip away easily.

"I've brought Margarita's guardian with her, sir. But why are you asking for such a high price?"

Margarita's gentle smile reached my ears. "Guardian! Oh, dear señor!"

Mr. Chinua inquired once again why it was so valuable. Something about the way the man spoke, dressed, and carried himself suddenly melted my heart. I asked about his family. He lived alone with his wife; they had no children. I learned that the town's residents lived in solitude through the winter months, emerging from their homes once spring arrived, hungry and eager for interaction. Some foreign travelers would come during this time, and money would become scarce. But until then? They survived by catching fish but going without much else. If I had my own money, I would have gladly paid three hundred thousand Tugriks for the machine. However, I needed to consider Grandfather's wishes.

I negotiated with him to bring the price down to two hundred thousand Tugriks. He agreed readily, suggesting that he could have gone lower if necessary. He invited me to his house's storeroom to inspect the goods. He didn't keep such expensive items in the store. I told Margarita to keep an eye on Esperanza while I followed Chinua's horse with Armonia, heading ten minutes away to his house as he directed.

"Hurry up, Guardian! I want to leave soon!" Margarita's impatient voice reached me. She was sitting on the grass under a cedar tree near the shop, gazing at the lake. I glanced at her once before setting off after Chinua's horse.

Oh, if only I hadn't left her that day! If I had sent Margarita with Chinua! If the man had kept the item in the store! If anything other than what actually happened had occurred! If only I possessed the power to change that moment in exchange for all the happiness in the world!

But that was impossible. I arrived at Mr. Chinua's house. We crossed the lake together. Small wooden houses lined both sides of the road. The surroundings were serene, with only the gentle lapping of the lake's waters and the soothing sound of the wind. Mr. Chinua halted in front of one of these houses. He was sitting on the porch, busily carving a piece of wood into an idol. He introduced me to his wife. She wore a constant smile and had an air of simplicity about her, with small, squinting eyes. Handing me his tools, he went inside to fetch me a glass of water. I gave Chinua two hundred thousand tugriks. As husband and wife returned with the water and shearing machine, Chinya's wife engaged me in conversation. I couldn't bring myself to be dismissive; she was quite the storyteller. She shared everything from her husband's struggling business to how vibrant the lake becomes during fishing season. She also mentioned how the town felt lifeless now. It wasn't just a rumor; indeed, for the past month, there had been a mysterious occurrence where children were disappearing from the town. No news was heard from them, and no ransom demands were made. Law enforcement had been initially indifferent, but over the past week, three people in the town had been struggling, despite not having any involvement. I felt a wave of relief wash over me upon hearing this. Even in this remote, mountainous region, shadows had cast their vulture-like presence, and sinister, human-like specters were watching. With a warning to take care of the children, heartfelt thanks for their hospitality, and warm wishes for their well-being, I spent a little time on Armonia's back, who was leisurely enjoying herself.

From there, I made my way to Hatgal's sawmill shop. It didn't take long to find – there were rows of tree trunks and piles of cut wood. The shopkeeper greeted me with a smile when I presented the letter from my grandfather. He assured me that the order would be ready within a week; there was no need to worry. I gave him an advance of two hundred thousand Tugriks. The total price would be confirmed after he spoke with my grandfather.

Afterward, I rode Armonia back to Margarita. But where was Margarita? The porch of Chinua's shop was still there, adorned with fluttering prayer flags, but under the cedar tree next to it, there was no Margarita, no Esperanza. I felt a pang of concern for the girl. She had urged me to hurry, so she might have wandered off. My first thought was to check the cosmetics shop! I headed straight there. The girl in the shop smiled at me and asked where Miss Margarita was. It was clear she hadn't been there. I quickly returned to the cedar grove. No Margarita in sight. I felt a sense of unease growing within me. I lay down beside the lake, with Armonia beside me. I pondered what I would say when Margarita returned. I would need to address all her concerns one by one. It was nearly noon, and I wanted to be back at the ranch before evening. As half an hour passed, my anger seemed to dissipate rather than escalate. And then, out of nowhere, a sense of worry consumed me. Something was amiss. I shouldn't have stayed sulking here; instead, I should have explored the town.

As the idea struck me, I set out to explore every street of Hatgal, one after the other, accompanied by Armonia. Whenever I encountered someone who seemed approachable, I inquired if they had seen a foreign girl on a bicycle. Unfortunately, every response was negative. I circled Hatgal three times with Armonia, scouring the entire town, yet still no sign of Margarita. Occasionally, I took breaks in the cedar grove. At one point, I spotted Mr. Chinua and shared the story with him. He, too, was surprised and concerned. By this time, the sun had begun its descent in the western sky. Three hours had passed, and I was exhausted. What should I do now?

Feeling helpless, I drove poor Armonia almost to the point of exhaustion. I continued running around with him. He was already worn out from the day's activities, but he didn't protest. He sensed that something was amiss. Eventually, I left the town behind.

Crossing a verdant valley to the west, the Khoridol mountain range loomed on the horizon. A sheer rock face rose straight up, dominating the landscape. Most of the sloping plain below the horizon was visible from Hatgal. Though I scanned the surroundings, I couldn't spot any human figure. However, I couldn't just remain there. Margarita might have disappeared behind a hill. I studied the grassy path, searching for any signs of a bicycle wheel, but my untrained eye failed to distinguish any traces amidst the numerous blades of grass. I pressed onward along the trail. As usual, after a while, I reached a point where three paths branched out in different directions. Now, where should I go?

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