Sipping steaming coffee on the porch of the house, contemplating the smooth transition from night to day, Rudolfo rubbed his aching hip with his palm, covering the pain with discomfort.

Old wounds received during the service sometimes made themselves felt.

But life on the farm was definitely good for him, despite the difficult work that included caring for animals, greenhouses and a sprawling field of rye. Here, far from civilization and, no less importantly, from the polygon, it was calm, albeit no less traumatic.

At least no one tried to shoot him here.