At the break of dawn on Sunday, the blue-gray sky twinkled with sparse morning stars. The wind blew down from the mountains, stirring up a moist mist. The breath of the earth was cool and comfortable, and the sun remained lazily behind the horizon, unwilling to rise.
Living in the eastern part of Dusack Village in Wolf Town, old Sergei woke up early. First, he stared blankly at the old saber hanging on the wall of the inner room. Only then did he sluggishly pull on his trousers, slip into his cloth shoes, and while heading outside, he buttoned up his shirt.
Standing at the entrance of his yard, Sergei silently admired his own small courtyard: the newly built storeroom and livestock shed were covered with neat tiles, the large animals of the house were peacefully chewing hay, the grain stores were full, and the old woman and children of his home were still sound asleep...