GOR
Independent Schools Foundation Academy, Kleio Kwok, Fiction: Group 2
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HAM! THUD! Then complete silence.
Naran, short for Naranbaatar – sun hero in Mongolian, shook his head. He still
felt the rocking and the deep drop as they crashed onto the Gobi Desert. The first
thing he saw was his little sister Oyun, short for Oyunbileg – gift of wisdom in
Mongolian, lying beside him. Her eyes were closed, her face was pale. She looked dead. His first
reaction was to place his fingers under her nose. Her breath tickled his fingers. She was alive! He
breathed a sigh of relief. Then he checked on the pilot. He was stone dead.
By now, Oyun was already awake. They silently ate some aaruul – Mongolian dried curds.
They missed home. The only thing that met their eyes was the vast, brown, shapeless and endless
emptiness. Naran sighed: “Why did the plane crash? Will people come to rescue us?”
“Are we going for help, or are we going to stay put?” asked Oyun. Naran replied: “Let’s
explore. We might find a ger.”
They explored until dusk and then quickly sprinted back to the wreckage. At night, the
howling of a pack of wolves shook them out of their slumber. They were scared stiff. The children
decided to keep guard.
The next day, they resolved to leave the wreckage. They packed a pole, a raincoat, some
aaruul and all the water they could find. After trekking for miles, they heard a rushing sound
from afar. Then they saw a thick blanket of dust rose from the distance towards them. Oyun was
frozen. Naran yelled: “Quick! Get in.” He wrapped them in the raincoat from head to toe. The sky
became pitch dark. Sand blasted on them like spraying bullets. Oyun held onto her brother tightly.
It seemed to be an eternity when the wind finally died down. The sand storm stopped as abruptly
as it started. They looked up at the sky. It was clear and bright. More stars filled the sky than they
had ever seen before.
At night, the wolves returned. They were louder and closer, but this time, they were too tired
to care.
In the morning, during breakfast, Oyun suddenly put a finger on her lips and pointed to the
horizon. Naran followed her finger and spotted a tahki – a Przewalski’s horse, the Mongolian wild
horse. It stood with the sun behind it, making it look heavenly.
Oyun’s face suddenly dropped. Two empty bottles caught her eyes. She screamed hysterically:
“Where has our water gone? I am thirsty! Naran, I want to drink.” In her tears, she felt the takhi
was eyeing her. Oyun could read animal’s mind and communicate with them. She pleaded in her
heart to the takhi for help. She was sure that they would meet again. She called her “Gor” – hope
in Mongolian.
Naran set their course southward. As they walked, Oyun thought that something was trailing
them, but she thought she was imagining it.
At night, they camped at a stony patch, set up the raincoat, ate another chunk of aaruul and
fell asleep. At midnight, Oyun felt that they were being watched. “Wake up”, she hissed into
Naran’s ear. He peered out. “Oh no,” he muttered. “Wolves...” He grasped the pole and charged
out but Oyun boldly stepped in front of him. She made eye-contact with the wolf leader. She
commanded: “Eat me, not my brother.” The wolf was baffled. Suddenly, he swivelled his head to
