A small room separate from Buyanto's house serves as the slaughtering and preparation place. Buyanto carries the sheep in and places it on its back, with its forelegs stretched out above its head and back legs still tied.

Buyanto's ten-year-old son Beligto holds the animal's forelegs as his father bends over its belly with a knife. A few quick strokes clear the wool from the belly: now everything is ready. Buyanto raises the knife, inspects it, and suddenly decides it is too dull. He leaves the animal lying stretched on the floor, its eyes open wide, while he trots into the house for a flint.

Once the knife is sharpened, Buyanto slices into the sheep's belly in a straight vertical line. He plunges his hand into the bloody opening, reaching down through the internal organs until he feels the pulsing artery near the animal's spine.

"This is how Genghis Khan taught us to kill sheep," he says, grinning as he squeezes the artery shut. The sheep does not kick or bleat, but lies perfectly still while gradually its eyes go glassy and its mouth slack.

As the sheep's last breath fades, the preparation of its carcass begins in earnest. With methodical precision, Buyanto cuts into the skin around the animal's legs, then slices upwards toward the belly. Punching at fatty tissue with his fists and the knife, he begins slowly to separate the skin from body, exposing the still-twitching muscles of the sheep's thighs.

Steam rises from the body in the dimly-lit room, and the air becomes thick with the dusky smell of mutton. Beligto and his eight-year-old sister Bayarma watch placidly as their father works the sheepskin free. "I was 15 years old when I killed my first sheep," he says. "My father stood by me, telling me what I needed to do. I had seen him kill many sheep before that, and helped him like Beligto is helping me.

"We pass the tradition on," he says, slicing at the fatty tissue with his knife. "It's in the Buryat blood."