Недавно я получила права, а значит, пришло время зарабатывать — 200 000 на дороге не валяются. Мой график будет плотным: с шести утра и иногда до одиннадцати вечера, без выходных. Отдыхать смогу только в сильный дождь или при поломках.
Честно признаюсь: времени на арты и соцсети практически не останется. Порой его не будет даже на себя — только дом, еда, сон и снова за руль. Работа непростая, связанная с тяжёлой техникой, но она мне действительно нужна. В моём селе это буквально единственный вариант. К тому же зарплата такая, что за год смогу накопить на хорошую машину или даже на квартиру/дом, а это моя главная цель.
Что будет с блогом?
Я постараюсь рисовать в обед или в минуты ожидания солярки, но ничего не обещаю
На этом всё, спасибо, что вы со мной!
До встречи (очень на это надеюсь) 💛
•••
I recently got my license, which means it's time to earn — 200,000 is not lying on the road. My schedule will be tight: from six in the morning and sometimes until eleven at night, seven days a week. I can only rest in heavy rain or in case of breakdowns.
To be honest, there won't be much time for art and social media. Sometimes I won't even have time for myself — just the house, food, sleep, and back behind the wheel. It's not an easy job involving heavy machinery, but I really need it. In my village, this is literally the only suitable option. In addition, the salary is such that I can save up for a good car or even an apartment/house in a year, and this is my main goal.
What will happen to the blog?
I will try to draw during lunch or during the minutes of waiting for diesel, but I cannot promise anything
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Dawn was just beginning to tint the sky, but the nighttime chill was still in the air. Frost was already standing by the library doors. A backpack hung on his back, and in his hand he held two fishing rods he had made himself. Foggy, apparently well‑fed, stayed at home. She merely lazily watched her owner go and curled up on the bed.
He knocked. Loudly and confidently, that even a deep sleep couldn’t withstand it. Silence hung in the air behind the door. Then came a shuffling sound, a grumbling complaint, and the door creaked open a crack. Vardy’s sleepy face appeared in the doorway. His glasses were perched crookedly, and the book‑cap he’d put on in a hurry had slipped to one side. He blinked frequently, trying to focus his gaze on the early‑morning guest.
"Frost? You... Have you lost your mind? The library won’t open for another two hours! I still haven’t sorted out the catalog, and the new arrivals are still waiting, and…"
"I know," Frost interrupted him. "Get ready. We’re going fishing."
Vardy tensed up. His gaze darted from the Evoker’s face to the fishing rods. A flash of understanding, mixed with quiet horror, crossed his eyes. He involuntarily took a step back.
"Frost… you’re not joking, are you? At this hour?" He frantically adjusted his glasses. "Frost… I can’t. I need to open the library. I have things to do, and actually…"
Frost interrupted him again.
"Vardy. I warned you."
"But…"
"You sit in the same room every day. You breathe in the same dust. Today you should rest. The library won’t disappear in a single day."
"I… I don’t know how to fish. I’ve never tried," the Librarian admitted.
"I’ll teach you. I want to show you a place. It’s quiet and peaceful there. And beautiful. The water is clear, the birds are singing… You won’t regret it."
Vardy looked at Frost intently. His face remained inscrutable, expressing only firm resolve. And suddenly Vardy realized: Frost wouldn’t give up. He could argue for an hour, putting forward a hundred arguments as to why he needed to be in the library. But this persistent mob wouldn’t back down until he got what he wanted.
"You're not going to calm down, are you?" Vardy gasped, knowing the answer in advance.
"No."
"Even if I say 'no'?"
"Especially if you say 'no'."
Vardy sighed heavily.
"Give me five minutes."
"You have three," Frost replied with a slight smile. "And bring a blanket: it’s damp on the shore."
Vardy nodded, but as he closed the door behind him, he couldn’t hold back a smile.
•••
The crunching of branches underfoot and the chirping of the first birds broke the forest silence.
"Why are we so early?" Vardy asked, stepping over the root. "The fish is probably still sleeping."
"The fish is not sleeping," Frost replied without looking back. "The bite is better at dawn. And there is silence in the forest. No one goes. Just us."
"And monsters," Vardy added quietly, casting a glance at the dark pine trees. He quickened his pace, trying to stay closer to his friend.
They walked in silence for a while longer. Vardy gradually calmed down and even caught himself thinking that the morning was truly beautiful. Suddenly, a strange cracking sound was heard. He turned his head and froze. A figure emerged from behind the tree. Its gray‑green skin was peeling off in flakes, its eyes were dull, and a fragment of a vertebra was protruding from its torn throat. Zombie. Slowly and hungrily, he stretched out his arms and moved closer.
"Frost…" Vardy exhaled, feeling cold sweat trickle down his forehead. He stepped back, but the Evoker had already understood everything.
He stopped right away. At that moment, Vardy noticed that Frost’s eyes were beginning to glow. Then he quickly raised his hand. The ground beneath the Zombie trembled, split open, and huge fangs emerged from the depths. They closed around the monster’s body, and an unpleasant, wet crunching sound was heard. Zombie collapsed forward without a sound.
The fangs disappeared as quickly as they had appeared. All that remained on the ground was a strange mound.
"Let’s go," Frost said calmly, as if nothing had happened.
Vardy froze, not moving. His eyes widened, and he tried to catch his breath.
"You used magic," he finally managed to say.
"Yes."
"But that’s forbidden! Maron said…"
"Maron said that magic can’t be used in the village," Frost turned to him, raising an eyebrow. "And we’ve already gone beyond the boundaries. Or do you want that rot to get to you?"
Vardy wanted to object, to remind him of the rules and the dangers, even outside the village, but the words wouldn’t come. He just shook his head wearily.
“You could have at least warned me.”
"But then you would have turned away and missed the whole show," Frost replied with a slight smirk.
He turned around and continued on his way, deftly stepping over roots and rocks. Vardy, sighing as if he had made the hardest decision of his life, followed him.
•••
Frost stopped by an old pine tree that grew right on the riverbank. It was quiet here: the river flowed slowly, with a gentle babbling sound.
"Here," Frost said, taking the backpack and fishing rods off his shoulder. "This is a good place. See the dark circles near those water buttercups? Those are fry."
Vardy spread out a blanket, leaned his back against the pine tree, and began to watch the dragonflies hovering over the water. The sky changed color from pale pink to blue. Suddenly, he felt a strange calmness he had never experienced before.
Frost took the fishing rod, deftly attached a worm to the hook, and swung the rod. The line cut through the air with a quiet whistle, and the float gently plopped into the water.
“Now it’s your turn,” he said, handing Vardy the second fishing rod. It was lighter and shorter than the first one. Along with the rod, he handed over a small box containing the bait.
Vardy took the rod. When he opened the box and looked inside, his face turned pale. He recoiled, nearly dropping it into the water.
"Frost... I won’t touch it. No way."
"It’s just an ordinary earthworm."
"It’s a slimy, wriggling creature!" Vardy objected, pushing the box away from him with disgust, to the edge of the blanket.
"That’s exactly what they’re for. So the fish can see that the bait is alive. Movement attracts attention."
"I can’t, Frost. Truth. I’d rather just watch the float and breathe in the fresh air. You yourself wanted me to rest. Let my psyche rest too."
"You can. They don’t bite."
"I know, but..." Vardy raised his pleading gaze to him, full of genuine horror. "This is... this is disgusting. It’s cold. And slimy."
Frost took a breath and lowered the fishing rod onto the grass. Then he confidently picked up one worm and impaled it on the hook with familiar movements.
"Here," he said, handing the fishing rod to the Villager. "Next time, you’ll do it yourself. That’s part of fishing."
Vardy, trying not to look at the hook, took the rod and, squinting, cast the line into the river. The float fell into the water with a splash, scaring away the fry.
•••
About an hour had passed. Vardy kept his eyes fixed on the motionless float. It swayed gently on the slight ripples, showing no signs of life. His shoulders tensed, and his back ached from sitting so long without moving, but he stubbornly kept looking, as if trying to hypnotize it.
"It’s not moving," Vardy remarked after a long silence. "At all. Am I doing something wrong? Or is there just no fish here?"
"The fish don’t always bite right away," Frost replied. "This isn’t a library where visitors come on a schedule. Here, you have to be able to wait. Sometimes an hour, sometimes two, sometimes a whole day."
"I know how to wait," Vardy said with a slight hint of offense, adjusting his glasses. "I wait for visitors every day. I wait for them to choose books. I wait for them to come to the lectern, decide they don’t need the encyclopedia, and take a novel. I’m a professional at waiting."
"It’s not the same," Frost said thoughtfully. "Here, you’re not just waiting. You’re listening to nature, feeling it."
Vardy fell silent. He had never really thought about fishing beyond just sitting by the river with a stick. It had seemed like something boring, something mobs did when they had nothing better to do. But Frost’s words made him think. Vardy listened: the forest rustled, the water splashed. Suddenly, he noticed that his shoulders had relaxed, and his gaze, which had been tense, began to drift along the river, noticing the ripples, the circles left by falling cones, and the shadows of clouds slowly drifting across the water. There was something soothing, meditative about it.
However, about fifteen minutes passed. Vardy was starting to lose his patience again. His fingers, which had recently been resting on the fishing rod, were now nervously drumming. He kept adjusting his glasses, and his gaze darted from the float to the shore, from the shore to the sky, and from the sky to Frost. Frost was sitting motionless: it seemed he wasn’t even breathing. Vardy was already mentally compiling a list of reasons why fishing was the most boring activity in the world.
The float bobbed sluggishly on the water, as if mocking him with its indifference. A frog lazily croaked in the reeds, and Vardy thought bitterly that even it was mocking his futile efforts.
But suddenly the float twitched. At first, it was just a slight movement, as if someone had touched it out of curiosity. Then it twitched harder, causing ripples to spread across the surface. And before Vardy could even understand what was happening, the float swiftly disappeared beneath the water.
Frost abruptly put down the fishing rod.
"Pull! But not sharply, smoothly. Guide it!"
Startled, Vardy almost let the rod slip from his hands. He quickly gathered his thoughts and yanked it upward, just as the Illager had taught him. A splash sounded on the water’s surface, and a fountain of spray shot into the air. A small fish was twitching on the hook: dark green, with stripes and bright orange fins that fanned out to the sides.
"Congratulations, you caught a perch," Frost said with a slight smile. "It's not big, but it's not bad for the first time. Now take it off."
Vardy's joy ignited instantly, but then went out. He stared dazedly at the fish, which was still frantically fluttering on the hook.
The Librarian swallowed and tentatively extended his hand. But as soon as his fingers touched the scales, the perch suddenly struck with its tail. The body arched, and the fish nearly fell back into the water. With a quiet cry, he pulled his hand back, pricking himself on the sharp dorsal fin.
"Be careful," Frost warned. "Step back. Watch carefully: you need to hold it by the gills, got it?"
He gently squeezed the fish, and it instantly grew still. With a single deft movement, he pulled the hook out of its mouth. The perch splashed into the bucket, which Frost had filled with water earlier. The fish thrashed its tail, its fins spread out menacingly, and it seemed as if the bucket would tip over. But after a few seconds, the perch calmed down and began to swim slowly in circles, getting used to the new environment.
Vardy leaned over the bucket with interest. His first catch was slowly moving its gills. The perch seemed huge, majestic, and beautiful to him. The scales on its side sparkled in the sun, and the spiny dorsal fin stuck up like a crown. Vardy exhaled, and his heart was filled with warm pride. He straightened up, brushed the dirt off his knees, and smiled sincerely and joyfully.
Vardy sat back down on the blanket and picked up the fishing rod. He paused for a moment, twirling the line in his fingers, as if pondering his words, and then, looking embarrassed, suggested:
"Maybe we could go somewhere else? Tomorrow, or even tonight in the evening."
Frost raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"Are you serious?" he asked.
"Well, if you have the time," Vardy muttered, trying not to look at his friend and pretending to be very interested in the float.
The Evoker couldn’t believe his ears. He sat there, pondering what he’d heard, and memories flashed before his eyes: how he’d dragged Vardy away from the table, how he’d tried to persuade him, how he’d waved his arm in front of his nose to distract him from yet another book — all to no avail. And now, this same mob, which even force couldn’t drag out of the library, had suddenly taken the initiative on its own. It was so unexpected, so unusual, that Frost doubted for a moment: was he dreaming?
It was getting late in the day. The village was shrouded in dusk, filled with warm light from the windows. Dogs barked in the distance, and the wind carried snippets of laughter from the center — Lumi was up to something again.
Frost walked home along the path, feeling each step weigh heavily on his feet. It had been a long day. All he wanted to do was kick off his boots at the door, collapse on the bed with his face in the pillow, stretch out his legs, and fall asleep.
He was almost to the gate when a shadow slipped silently out from behind the corner of the old barn. Frost tensed instantly, a reflex that had been honed over the years. His hands clenched into fists, but a moment later, as the shadow came into the light of the lantern, he realized that it was not an enemy.
It was a cat. Where had it come from? He had not seen it before in the area. Or had he simply not noticed it, preoccupied with his own thoughts? She was large, gray, and had thick, glossy fur. Her amber eyes looked at Frost as if she knew everything about him. Her tail was special: it was fluffy like a fox's and stood proudly upright. She stopped in front of him, tilting her head to the side and studying him, and then, with boldness and no hesitation, she headed towards the porch.
The Illager frowned. He thought he saw a hint of mockery in her walk. He was reaching for the doorknob when the cat darted forward, trying to slip between his legs.
"Not so fast," Frost said, holding out his boot to block her path.
The cat bumped her nose against the boot, stopped, and looked at him with a mixture of resentment and bewilderment. Then she sat down on the threshold, turned her head away, and began to wash her paw as if he didn't exist.
Frost sighed heavily, pushed the door open, and closed it in the gray impudent's face.
There was a long indignant "meow" outside the door. Then another one, quieter and more offended. Frost listened. He imagined a picture of a cat sitting outside, ears flattened, and staring reproachfully at a closed door. He ignored her. It's just a stray cat. There are many of them in the village. She'll leave when she realizes there's no food here.
As Frost took off his boots in the dark hallway, he suddenly noticed that he was listening. Would she meow again? But there was silence behind the door.
•••
The next morning, Frost opened the door and almost stumbled. The cat was staring at the door as if it had been waiting for him all night.
"Are you serious?" he asked in surprise, squinting against the sun.
The cat meowed briefly, without a trace of yesterday's resentment. Her behavior said: yes, she's here, she's staying, and it's actually time for breakfast.
She stood up and stretched gracefully, making Frost admire her for a moment. Then, with dignity, she approached his feet and began to rub herself against them, leaving gray patches on his trousers.
Frost frowned, stepped back, and brushed himself off irritably. The fur clung to his fingers, only digging deeper into the fabric, and he knew it would be difficult to get rid of it.
"You annoy me," he said, looking down at her.
The cat raised her head and blinked slowly. One eye closed, then the other, as if to say, "I don't care."
Frost chuckled, walked around her, and headed deeper into the village. The cat gave him a lazy look and then went back to washing herself as if nothing had happened.
He'd been thinking about her all day. The Evoker rubbed a weary hand across his face, realizing that he didn't know how to get rid of her. Should he chase her away? She'd just come back. Should he don't feeding her? But she didn't ask for food, she just needed a place to stay. Should he give her to Basya? He already had plenty of animals. He felt like he was under siege, and the siege was led by a gray, completely unflappable cat with a clear plan. And that plan didn't involve leaving.
•••
One evening, a thunderstorm broke out.
Frost was returning from church. The old Cleric, Maron, had kept him longer than usual. First, with long prayers, then Maron began to preach. Frost tried to convince the Cleric that he did not believe in a single god. But Maron only shook his head and said that faith was the main pillar of the soul. Frost did not argue further, but nodded, staring at the dark sky through the stained-glass window.
The first drops of rain fell on his forehead as he walked halfway to the house. Soon, a wall of rain was pouring down, drenching his eyes and dripping into his collar. He ran down the familiar path, jumping over puddles that were quickly growing larger, and within seconds, he was soaked to the bone.
Reaching the porch, which creaked pitifully due to the moisture, he opened the door and entered the entryway, leaving a puddle on the floor. He tried to take off his soaked cloak, but the fabric stuck to his body and his fingers slipped. Suddenly, through the sound of the rain, he heard a familiar meow. But this time, it sounded different — not bold, but quiet and plaintive. The confidence was gone.
Frost froze. His fingers were still clenched tightly around the wet collar of his cloak. He listened. A few seconds passed. The rain was pounding loudly on the roof, as if it were trying to break through. The wind was howling through the chimney. Suddenly, amidst the noise, he heard the cat's meow again.
"Damn you," Frost muttered through gritted teeth.
He abruptly opened the door, and the wind rushed into the hallway, throwing rain drops in his face. The cat didn't wait for an invitation: it flew inside, wet and with its ears pinned back. Its tail was now a shapeless icicle. Wet paw prints were left on the floor.
It ran through the hall, burst into the room, and stopped in the middle. It shook its head vigorously, sending water spraying in all directions. Then it began sniffing around. It looked under the bed, rubbed against the thalharp in the corner, and even stuck its head through the crack between the wall and the chest. Then she jumped up on the table and sniffed the air, as if to see if the room was worthy of her presence.
Frost stood in the doorway, his shoulder resting against the jamb. The cold water still ran down his back, but he didn't notice. A strange mixture of irritation and surprise grew within him. Even though she was wet, disheveled, and pouting, she still acted as if she was doing him a favor by allowing him to let her in.
•••
Frost went to bed when it became completely dark outside the window. He crawled under the covers and stretched out his legs, enjoying the moment. Closing his eyes, he fell into a sweet doze, anticipating sleep.
Suddenly, the silence was broken by a quiet but distinct scratching sound, as if someone was sharpening their claws on a tree. Frost opened one eye. A cat stood by the bed, staring at him intently. Her front paws were resting on the edge. In the darkness, her eyes glowed, and her wet fur was already dry, but it still stood up in tufts.
"Don't you dare," Frost said hoarsely.
But the cat didn't listen. She jumped onto his stomach, soft and heavy, causing him to exhale sharply. Frost gasped and opened his mouth. The cat began to settle in: it put its front paws on him, stretching, then turned around, sat down, and froze, frowning in displeasure — it was missing a millimeter of perfect comfort.
Frost sat up, throwing back the covers. It was a dark night outside, and only the pale light of the moon filtered through the darkness. He reached out, grabbed the cat by the scruff, and lifted it onto the floor.
"Sleep on the floor," he said sternly. "You're not the master here. Do you understand?"
The cat looked at him, then turned her head away in a show of disdain. Her eyes were filled with confusion: how could anyone be so heartless?
Frost lay down again. He pulled the blanket up to his chin and closed his eyes. The room was silent, except for the occasional drop of water from the eaves. His breathing became steady, his eyelids grew heavy, and he was almost asleep...
Suddenly, he felt a gentle push. The cat had jumped onto the bed, carefully and almost silently. Frost didn't open his eyes, but he could hear the gentle footsteps on the blanket. She turned around at his feet a few times, then lay down, curling up into a warm ball.
Frost didn't move. He knew he had to send her away. Must. He doesn't need pets. Attachments are even more so. He's used to being alone. It was easier that way. Safer.
But she lay at his feet, unafraid of his harsh words or his frowning face. She came to him on her own.
Because she saw something special in him that others didn't notice. Or perhaps something he didn't want to see himself.
Frost exhaled. For the first time in years, the Illager fell asleep not in silence, but with a soft purr that promised a warm night.
•••
He stood in the middle of the fog. There was no ground beneath his feet, no sky above his head, only a shimmering void. The air was heavy, as if before a storm.
A figure emerged silently from the fog. It had familiar shoulders, a worn-out coat, and an axe at its waist, glinting dimly in the gray light. Erwin. But there was nothing in his eyes.
"I believed in you," Erwin said in a flat, emotionless voice. Frost felt a chill run down his spine at the icy indifference.
Frost tried to say something, to explain, to ask for understanding, but the words stuck in his throat. All that came out was a hoarse rasp, as if an invisible hand were squeezing his neck.
"You betrayed me," Erwin continued, taking a step forward.
The fog swirled around his knees, rising higher, enveloping his boots.
"You betrayed the tribe. Betrayed everything we lived for."
The Vindicator shook his head in reproach. There was so much old pain in that gesture that Frost's heart ached.
"I wanted to bring you back," Erwin's voice faltered. "And you... preferred some pathetic Villager."
Erwin took a step forward. Frost stepped back, his legs finally yielding, but every step was agonizing. The fog closed in behind him, cutting off his escape route.
"You're alone," Erwin whispered, his figure beginning to fade into the gloom. "You'll always be alone."
Frost lunged, reaching out with his hand, trying to grab the edge of the coat. He wanted to shout, "No! Stop!" to explain...
He threw himself into the fog, but the figure disappeared, leaving only the cold and the echo of the last curse: "Alone, alone, alone." It rang in his ears, pounded in his temples, echoed off the invisible walls of the void.
And then Frost felt something poking insistently at his face. Claws scraped his nose, cheek, and temple. A long, drawn-out meow. There was no doubt: his new neighbor was hungry.
Frost shuddered, breaking free from the nightmare. His heart was racing, sweat beaded on his forehead, and Erwin's voice rang in his ears. But instead of a gray haze, he found himself in the warm, dim light of a room. A gray cat sat on his chest like a queen.
Frost tried to turn away and cover himself with a blanket, but the cat didn't leave. It gently extended its claws and poked him on the temple. When he didn't react, the cat leaned in and bit him on the cheek. It wasn't a strong bite, but it was noticeable.
Frost jumped up in bed, knocking the cat off his chest with a sudden movement.
"Are you crazy?!" he exclaimed.
The cat landed lightly on the floor, lifted its tail like a tube and looked at him as if he had done something stupid.
The Evoker rubbed his face, trying to banish the remnants of sleep. He felt overwhelmed.
But his new roommate didn't wait for him to come to his senses.
He had to get up. He yawned, cursing, and walked across the cold floor with his bare feet. When he reached the chest of supplies, the Illager opened the heavy lid and looked inside. There was bread, a pumpkin pie, and plenty of meat: dried pieces, fried and smoked, from his last hunt.
"What should I feed you?" he asked aloud, more to himself than to the cat. "I have meat, but I didn't get it for you, you brat."
The cat didn't understand, or didn't care.
Frost remembered how Basya fed his cats. Every day he went out on the porch with a bucket of fish. As soon as he appeared, six cats gathered around, stood on their hind legs, shouting loudly at each other. The bravest tried to bite his hand, as if they were afraid that he would change his mind or deprive someone. Basya laughed and said: "Quiet, demons! Everyone gets it. Just don't eat me ahead of time!"
Fish. He needed fish.
He closed the chest, looked at the cat, and sighed heavily. Now, whether he liked it or not, he had to go to the river.
•••
The sun's rays filtered through the dense pine needles, creating intricate patterns on the ground. They shimmered and glided over the moss and last year's pine needles.
A cat ran alongside, occasionally overtaking or falling behind to sniff a particularly interesting mushroom or pause at the sight of a firefly. Its ears were alert, capturing every sound of the awakening forest.
Frost stopped at the river. The water was dark, with a slight ripple caused by the wind. A light mist rose from the surface, mixing with the morning fog. He squatted down, looking at the water and deciding where to cast his line. At that moment, he realized: she deserved a name. Not just "cat" or "gray brat."
Frost turned his head. The cat was sitting on a nearby rock, her back arched, her eyes fixed on the water as if she were about to dive in after her prey. Her gray fur looked smoky in the light, and her fluffy tail, blowing in the wind, looked like a patch of fog.
"Foggy," Frost said softly, testing the name on his lips. "I'll call you Foggy."
The cat twitched an ear, but didn't turn around. Frost unwound the fishing rod, planted the worm and threw the line into the water. The float swung, straightened, and froze, bobbing on a light wave. He settled himself comfortably on a flat cobblestone overgrown with moss. Foggy immediately came up and rubbed against his side, leaving thick tufts of fur on his mantle.
"I'll have to get you cleaned up," he grumbled. "Otherwise, in less than a week, I'll look like a cat myself."
In the morning, before leaving the house, he stopped by the library. Vardy was already sitting at the table, hunched over the scrolls, diligently copying something. Frost suggested going fishing, casually but with a hint of hope in his voice. Vardy, as usual, began to refuse. He fidgeted with his pen, looked away, and mumbled about his library duties, his work, and his father, who might worry. Vardy doubted that fishing would be worthwhile. Why sit for hours on the shore and look at a stationary float? Boring, useless...
Vardy spoke so fast that the words merged into a stream. Frost barely managed to grasp the meaning. The Villager blushed, adjusted his glasses and his chiton, and stared at the floor, as if he was afraid that he would be dragged out into nature against his will.
Frost chuckled, but did not argue.
He said then: "Okay, coward. But next time, I'll definitely drag you away. Even if i have to tie you up and carry you."
Frost understood: Vardy was just afraid to try something new. He was afraid that he would fail, that he would look stupid. But he also knew that if Vardy caught even a small fish, even the size of his palm, his eyes would light up. After that, he won't be able to resist.
The float jerked violently. Frost cast, and a moment later a small codfish was twitching on the hook. Foggy leaped to her feet. Her pupils dilated, her whiskers quivered, and she began to emit a series of plaintive, demanding meows that almost made Frost laugh out loud. The cat reached for the fish, standing on her hind legs and scratching the air.
"Sit down!" Frost commanded, but it was no use.
Foggy let out a high-pitched meow and dug her claws into Evoker's leg. Frost gritted his teeth, quickly removed the fish from the hook, and threw it away from him.
The cat pounced on the fish, pinned it down with her paw, and began to crunch on it with great enthusiasm. Frost watched her, feeling a strange, warm relief. But then, like a punch to the gut, Erwin's words from his painful dream came back to him: "Alone. You'll always be alone."
He froze for a moment. His fingers tightened on the rod, but instead of the old emptiness, he felt something new. He looked down at Foggy. She was licking her cheek and rubbing against his boots, begging for more.
No, he's not alone. He has Vardy, a quiet, kind friend who accepted him wholeheartedly, with all his dark sides. Vardy didn't ask unnecessary questions, but he was always there when Frost needed him. And there's Dizzy, who could be annoyingly persistent but would never leave Frost in need. The Vex would challenge a dragon itself if it dared to harm Frost.
And now he's got a cat. Well, she's got him. He gently stroked her back. Her fur was soft and pleasant to the touch. Foggy immediately pressed her head against his palm and purred loudly.
"Let's go home," he said.
She obediently walked beside him. Frost felt the weight on his shoulders gradually lifting.
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Сегодня я пошла на рыбалку, потому что Шлёпе (моему коту), видите ли, надоели караси. Я просидела несколько часов на жаре и наловила 41 краснопёрку специально для него. В итоге все едят, а он даже нюхать не стал. Одну рыбку я решила порезать на кусочки для котят, так он набросился и всё у них забрал. Козёл.
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Today I went fishing, because Floppa (my cat), you see, tired of the crucian carp. I sat for several hours in the heat and caught 41 rudd specifically for him. In the end, everyone ate, and he didn't even take a sniff. One fish I decided to cut into pieces for the kittens, so he rushed and took everything from them. Prick.
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Спустя пять дней я наконец-то дома. Я уже говорила, что плохо переношу города, и у меня до сих пор гудит голова. Также у меня болит все тело из-за того, что приходилось спать в машине. И ещё я приболела. Думаю, это из-за резкой смены климата: от засушливого (+39°C/102°F) до сырого (+15°C/59°F) и обратно. У семьи такая же проблема.
Но в целом было неплохо. Жалко, конечно, что я не успела сфотографировать город, в котором проходила свадебная роспись, а там много красивых старинных домиков. Проезжали мимо гор, окруженных водой, пыталась сфотографировать, но качество получилось ужасным. Обратно ехали уже в два часа ночи, поэтому перефотографировать не получилось. Но зато на обратном пути мы заехали в столицу на Красную площадь. И грех пару раз не остановиться в бору. Обожаю сосны и запах сырой хвои.
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After five days, I'm finally home. I've already mentioned that I don't do well in cities, and I'm still feeling a bit dizzy. Additionally, I have aches all over my body because I had to sleep in the car. I'm also feeling a bit unwell. I think it's due to the sudden change in climate, from the dry (+39°C/102°F) to the wet (+15°C/59°F) and back. The family has the same problem.
However, overall, it was a pleasant experience. It's a pity that I didn't have time to take photos of the city where the wedding ceremony took place, as there are many beautiful old houses there. We passed by mountains surrounded by water, and I tried to take a photo, but the quality was terrible. We returned at two o'clock in the morning, so I couldn't take another photo. However, on our way back, we stopped by the capital's Red Square. And it's a sin not to stop in the forest a couple of times. I love pine trees and the smell of wet needles.
