GG Bold

Enkhbat Bold rode a hundred kilometres at a gallop across open ground until he was sixty and now trains horses and grandsons by identical methods. He winters in the capital with his daughter, which he tolerates, and spends the summer with the herd, which he calls living. He measures a match the way he measured that ride. Partway through he will announce that you are forty in with the river still ahead, and he means it as information rather than theatre, and by the endgame the distances have become oddly accurate. The chip table he treats as the long haul: staked for the evening, nothing held back, everybody home by dawn.