We are riding towards the mountain of the 'lost boy', a bitter wind on our backs, the horses gingerly breaking the ice as we cross the small streams. To my left there's a small boy sitting beside the wooden door of a yurt, I wave but eliciting a response is not to be. He watches me pass without a sign of me ever being there, the passer-by will pass by.

Mark Cator, Mongolia, 2017

Mark Cator, Mongolia, 2017

Mark Cator, Mongolia, 2017