Yarilo ran headlong over the horizon in order to hide in time with the orange dishonor;the last narrow strips of the sun,breaking through the olive grove,formed bizarre shadows on the sinking stone-free land.Air is filled with the scent of soaked aspen-like a bath broom whipped at the receptors of a reddened nose.A heavy hand,brazenly,without permission,strangles you to the side.The chest rifle holster bumped unpleasantly against your elbow when Dante turned sideways towards you. „Deer nearby“