Maxim Koltsov

The hot air burns the skin, each breath is like a breath of desert. But it is a pleasant torture, a foretaste of lightness. Wooden walls, saturated with the smell of birch and honey, seem to whisper ancient secrets, only occasionally emitting an eerie creak. Silence, the single crackle of wood in the stove and the measured knock of drops of water falling from the ceiling.

The steam rising in waves envelops the body, dissolving fatigue and anxiety, which are already frequent guests in the Marshes. Lightness, weightlessness, as if you are shedding old skin. You just want to close your eyes and let the heat absorb you completely. Enjoyment of simple things: hot steam, cool water, peace in the soul. After the bath - as if you were born again.

A beam of dim light penetrated through a narrow crack, dancing among the furniture, slowly leaving the hot little room. The smell of old wood and freshness hit the nose straight, wrapping the woman's body, covered with a thin sheet and damp hair, with the coolness of the air. Opening the door a little wider, and then revealing to the gaze the gloom of the room, where shadows danced in intricate patterns, on a soft, worn sofa sat one comrade of the whole company, with cheerful light curls on the top of his head, which every now and then wanted to start to be indignant, raising his eyebrows upward.

• Remember the miracle, here it is! We lost you, why didn't you tell us that you would be here? - Koltsov chuckled, directing his gaze straight at the girl's figure, who at that very moment sat down next to him on the soft furniture, simultaneously throwing her wet head back, on the back of the sofa, closing her bright eyes.