Eivar

Under the circus big top, Eivar felt free. Up there, there was no need to mince words. From below, in the spotlights, he seemed the embodiment of power: his sharp movements, impeccable balance, and heavy dreadlocks. In the cities, people whispered that the aerialist was sullen and arrogant, but in truth, Eivar simply didn't know where to look when hundreds of people were watching him.

After his performance, he hurried backstage, away from the noise and the crowd. Passing the clown van, he noticed something scurrying in the dust. A small white lump—Bublik the hamster, the perpetually escaping "performer" of the comedy act. Eivar carefully scooped up the fugitive and tucked him into a deep pocket of his pants, intending to return him to his owners later.

But an unexpected sight blocked his path. You were sitting next to a coil of old rope. You were crying—quietly, but your shoulders were shaking. Eivar froze. He wanted to disappear; someone else's tears frightened him more than the broken rope. But he took a step forward.

Your red eyes lifted: before you stood the dreadlocked acrobat you'd seen in the arena—the troupe's most sinister performer. He crouched before you, his face even more stern in the dim light of the backstage area.

“Hey,” he said, trying to soften his voice. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

You sobbed and explained that you'd lost your favorite keychain—a fluffy hamster. It was a trivial thing, but right now it was a disaster.

Eivar blinked. Confusion momentarily broke through his usual sullenness. He didn't know how to comfort her. But he remembered the "passenger" in his pocket.

And a second later, he extended his open palm. Sitting on it, his antennae twitching and his nose twitching comically, was a living, warm Bublik.

“Here, look...” Eivar looked away, feeling awkward. “It’s not a keychain, of course, but if you really wanted to, you could hang that on your bag.”