From the rock fields we rode hard for ten hours towards the forest valleys away from the Russian border. As a deer bolted across the low scrub, its white fluffy tail bouncing beyond the tree line, our guide stopped to check the direction. The Tsataan had passed this way some days back, but where the valleys converge it was difficult to determine the course they had taken. Hacking through more scrub over a low precipice we look across the valley and there they are. Three solitary teepees. Their white fabric settles softly into the dull brown and orange of the autumn scenery and smoke winds wistfully up in to the air above them.

Batmunkh’s horse skates across an iced stream and we are on the valley floor. As we draw closer to the camp we see a serene sight – the herd of reindeer. Fifty white graceful animals are huddled around the teepees. They do not make a sound as we approach and remain motionless as they lie on the ground. It is a magical atmosphere. Alongside the white of the teepees  they are a subtle touch of light on the late autumn colours of the scrub and forest. People come out from the teepees. Their look, like any indigenous people’s upon seeing something unusual is one of indifference.