Fyodor was packing his things in a bag. It was raining outside the window. A candle burned weakly in a dilapidated shack, his wife helped him pack his things, shedding tears. The fact was that Fyodor was sent to war. He and his wife lived in a remote village, but still all the men were forcibly taken to the war. Fyodor's black hair fluttered because of the draft.