The sky was grey. The air was heavy. The atmosphere was electric. Everyone was hurrying to pitch their tents before the storm.

  In the Cradle of the Clouds, it is said that, since time immemorial, the hills and sky have been like two lovers caressing without touching, like back-to-back dancers synchronizing through each other's warmth.

  The sky was grey, but the low clouds formed waves, like the vaults of a cave of unspeakable proportions. On the horizon, the sky fell to earth and revived the rivers.

  "Do you think the sky is jealous of us making love outside, and that's why it sends the storm?""Why should it be jealous?" Pastel replied, his muzzle in Tamo's fur, which he licked gently, as they stood entwined in the grass on the side of a hill. Echoes of party preparations could be heard in the distance.

  "Well, it's kind of like we're between him and the earth. Maybe he thinks our caresses are for the hills too."

  Pastel raised his head, grimacing. "What are you talking about? Just because we're on the ground doesn't mean we're having sex with the earth! That would be like.... yuck! Like sleeping with an elder."

  "... Like sleeping with Mamalou?" Tamo whispered into Pastel's ear as he pressed himself against him, their bodies exchanging heat.

  "No! Stop it! Get that image out of my head!" Pastel shouted, laughing and pushing Tamo away.

  Tamo laughed and tightened his grip on Pastel, encircling him with his muscular thighs. The young brown fox already had the physique of a hunter.

  Pastel howled and tried to disentangle himself from his friend's body. Their embrace turned into a furious, playful struggle. Both laughed and screamed until they were exhausted. Tamo kissed the back of Pastel's neck, their burning bodies pressed together.

  "Tamo..." Pastel murmured with a sigh. He felt a lump growing against his back.

  "Boys!"

  They parted sharply as their heads turned simultaneously to the authoritative voice, their ears perking up at a sudden.

  "Tamo! Pastel! For God's sake, you haven't even started to assemble the tent! Where the hell are you? If you haven't finished before the fire is lit, you won't get any grilled meat!"

  They looked at each other with exaggeratedly dramatic expressions.

  "Last one in gives his marrow away." Pastel said quickly, before leaping to his feet and speeding up the butte towards the camp.

  Chest burning, each catapult-like stride propelled him forward with the speed befitting a lifestyle dictated by walking and running. His heart was beating wildly, in his joy fuelled rush like an inferno is fuelled by wood and air.

  "Scum!" Pastel heard behind him as Tamo gave everything to catch up.

  At the top of the mound, he didn't bother to stop and observe the striking landscape of bumpy grassy plains and small hills as far as the eye could see. It was as if the earth was waltzing with the clouds. He knew the land, like the back of his hand, like his mother's face or Tamo's body. A hundred metres from the foot of the hill stood the camp under construction. Tents made of brightly coloured fabrics arced around a large area of trampled grass. A hundred or so people were busy with a plethora of activities, a well-regulated choreography in which everyone knew his or her role.

  Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  Pastel was close to the village, exhilarated when he felt a hand on his shoulder that pulled him back. As if in slow motion, he lost his footing, screaming, and fell backwards. Tamo, in a haze of fur, leaped over him, but in his fall, Pastel had just enough time to catch his friend's paw.

  They rolled to the ground at the threshold of the camp.

  "Aaaargh! That's not fair play!"

  "You've broken my rib, you monster!"

  "Don't exaggerate, you fell into the grass like a flower!"

  "Like a flower?? You catapulted me..."

  "That's enough, boys!"

  Still entangled on top of each other, they hadn't noticed the large shadow that had approached them and was now slowly lifting them by the scruff of the neck. They pulled themselves up at once.

  "Hello Daddy." Pastel smiled shyly.

  The big, storm-grey husky lifted the two young adults like common sacks of grain. He gave each of them a deep look.

  "Now. You're going to take a minute to calm down and you're going to put up this tent that, and I remind you, you volunteered to assemble. If you want to be treated like adults, you'll have to start by acting like one."

  He let them fall to the ground, a serious look on his face, but before leaving, gave Tamo a very subtle wink.

  They caught their breath in silence and got up to go and pack a set of bags between two tents. They began to unpack the tent when Tamo broke the silence.

  "Your father proved me right, he winked at me. You owe me your marrow..."

  "Oh no! Come. On! He didn't wink at anyone, and we're even, everyone gets their marrow!"

  So the silence didn't last long, but this time the boys were pitching the tent, one pole at a time, pulling the big scarlet canvas. Soon they forgot their differences, their conversation diverging towards the feast and Mamalou's predictions.

  In the center of the camp, an impressive pile of wood was being built. A rare resource on the steppes, such a quantity of wood had taken months to accumulate and laboriously transport on their peregrination. The coming blaze represented an important sacrifice to the spirits of the steppes.

  As the mountain of wood grew, Tamo's two sisters, Malana and Pengu, came to help the boys finish erecting the large family tent. When they had finished placing carpets, cushions and lanterns on the ground, a white fox elegantly dressed in a green and red tunic entered.

  "Ah, there you go, that was quick! Batto must have scared you, right?"

  Tamo replied, "He threatened to deprive us of grilled meats."

  The fox, the matriarch of Tamo's family, burst out laughing and looked affectionately at Pastel: "Your father doesn't lack a sense of humour... Now, you're like a brother to my son, but I think your mother would like you to be with your family during the storm. It's almost here."

  "A little more than a brother if you ask me..." Malana murmured before Tamo elbowed her in the kidneys. "Ouch!"

  Pastel stepped out just as a group of foxes were trying to stretch a large oilcloth over the woods. Pastel ran to grab a corner, under which the wind was threatening to blow. Around him, uncles, aunts, cousins and friends coordinated, exchanging whistles and glances. To the east, a wall of water, like an atmospheric ravine, was fast approaching.

  Tents, fire, animals and equipment secured and sheltered, families took refuge in their large tents just in time for the deluge.

  "It's lucky you thought to dig a trench around the camp to divert the water coming down the hill."

  "It's also lucky we didn't rely on your brother to take care of it, otherwise we'd already be under water." replied Pastel's father, point-blank. Pastel, who was watching the deluge through an opening between two sections of canvas, merely let out a sonorous sigh.

  A firm arm came to encircle his shoulders. "You know I'm kidding, Pastel?"

  "Sure, Dad, I guess I deserved it."

  "It's lovely to see you and Tamo, your friendship is palpable and it's important to enjoy it as you do."

  Pastel felt himself blush but continued to stare blankly at the deluge.

  "There are friendships that last forever, like the hills, but others, sometimes, are more like those intense storms that disappear as quickly as they arrive... friendships can transform."

  Pastel glanced obliquely at his father, as if to say, "What's that old man talking about with his metaphors?" Batto, no longer looking at his son, stared at a pattern on a carpet, as if searching for a memory.

  "... But hey, today's the solstice ritual and if there's one time of year when I'm counting on you to honor us and, above all, to be one with the clan, it's today. Okay?"

  "I know, Dad, sorry."

  "Right." Batto said laconically. Pastel wasn't too sure what his father had meant, but by the time he thought about it, the storm had indeed passed. "Disappearing as quickly as it arrived..." He taught.

  "Let the party begin!" He shouted, turning back to his family with a smile, as if to chase away the bad feeling that had just crept into his chest. Brothers and sisters responded with a cheerful whistle, and his parents burst out laughing.

  It was time for the ritual to begin.