Nothing but the sounds of the cold air blowing and the snow crunching beneath Zima’s boots was all that he could hear. At times he felt as if he heard another pair of footsteps behind him, but the poet quickly shook it off. It was probably a deer or fox following him. Animals tended to do that due to his habit of feeding them every so often.

After awhile he continued, and so did the sounds of something following. He tried to push the thought of a person following him away, it was unlikely this deep in the woods. But after awhile he couldn’t just ignore it.

Zima stopped, turning around while saying, “Извините, но я не принимаю гостей —”

His eyes fell upon a child. Luckily bundled up to fight against the harsh Russian winters, but a child all alone in the woods. Their big eyes staring at the exiled poet with curiosity. He was at a loss for words. He had expected some tourist, one looking him, the writer of all the poems that somehow became popular in his homeland. But… a lone child was…worrying. The ship should’ve left earlier with everyone… Were you left behind?

“I— … My… apologies…” Zima quickly switched to English to apologize, all while glancing around. “Y-your parents… where are they? You cannot be out here alone… Too dangerous.”