The whole night was raging snowstorm — Blizzard is here; she’s not calmed down and in the morning, and on the contrary, with the dawn of even more played out. In the woods in this Blizzard is nothing, Polgara. The dense thicket of tree trunks, heavy thicket thicket artisanal protect the traveler from the monstrous blows of the vortex cleared up, crushed waves of snow squalls, rebuff them at the edges of high nametami. This quickly grows the saving shaft, taking on the new, bitingly impinging the sediment, and, if only God will help oplossen industrialist, caught in the bad weather out in the open, to get to such a shaft, if preserved he has the strength to overcome this obstacle, through this snow, still unconsolidated, nelegalus mass, — he is saved! His ears have not hear a mournful howl and predatory whistling evil wind; his face does not cut like knives frozen snow; his eyes already see, where to go, what area to stay; tired, breaking her back, the Breasts should be freer breathing… Quiet, comfortable in a dark, dense forest, heavy snow on top, but calm; soft, white stars evenly strew hummocky mossy ground, covered entirely autumn Peregrino, poiltely foliage, gnarled, dry wind; as if warm steam spread along the bottom, a bluish fog, the frost settling on the higher branches of the trees. From this silence, from this relative warmth sleepy, overcomes nagging slumber of a fatigued Wayfarer, and now he is not afraid of this dream, boldly preparing for the night, chooses a snag with the root pit is about pulling down here drier twigs, moss, leaves, and a minute later the light was ready, merrily crackling red flame, moving from bitch to bitch, koroba resinous crust; hissing from the heat and crying like frozen twigs, and there, staring, and the thickness of the stump to smolder starts like This… fire is unattended, once established by experienced hands, all night will burn through before the light will warm the sleeping: navorachivaya only with the head and legs in warm wolf argac, and sleep quietly with God.
But Woe, great Woe, who captured the Blizzard off guard, gets to the shelter — refuge of the human, gets to the forest of shelter every four-legged creature. “Iron man” — the Yakut — the one not trying to fight the storm, turns his light sledge and lay down under them, giving themselves to the will of the Lord. High snow mound nametet in such a place, and when it subsides, will settle down the storm, it happens that the poor guy has enough strength to crawl out from under the snow, and it will remain there until spring, when the sun and warm rains will melt the snow, will open his cold grave.
Experienced people beforehand foresee the proximity of Blizzard and as soon as its on the horizon threatening signs, take action. And what measures? Find the most where you can hide until the eye sees far, if the paths are, but if they stay at home, so better not keep ‘ em together, pereida bad weather, until it blows over.
In anticipation of a snowstorm, the owner and his cattle keep, the yard will drive that dogs even will steal it and not driving on the street; varname-the tramp and will give a shelter, without fear sprawnego for hitting, and who, disdaining a Blizzard, he breaks into the path itself, he is the Christ of God will pray not to go and to stay. The merchant-the janitor for the shelter and warmth does not take even money in such a time, only puts grub on the accounts. Not to detain the traveler, let it go, strength not to stop if it hurts, stubborn, — so, in here, to accept of the great sin on his soul, himself forward the same cruel death to cook. It is the custom throughout Siberia from time immemorial, and the offender custom of this people are looked at as heathen, devil’s brother… No more of a crime to refuse a traveler shelter before the Blizzard, although this side happen and such travellers that, perhaps, shelter, housing more human than most of the Blizzard, afraid, with good roads will minimize the sight housing, like a bear etched, make a big detour and nervously glances at friendly haze tubes above the squat houses, anxiously listening to barking dogs in the party timidly trembling at every sound that drifted in from afar.
Such a fearful fall, however, rare. They are only poorly know Russian people and the first time I use his stolen will…
This, it should be. The whole day he sat behind the bushes at the edge of the forest; before it stretched a snowy, slightly wavy, completely open area, just on the horizon little cialis distant forest. To the forests and had to get bum… Well will see who is out in the open?! A quiet, desolate plain, Yes the road through it winds toboggan, riding, too, lay, Thorne, without poles was a Protestant, and yet people laid, not bears (bear trails that people have become accustomed not to be afraid and used them without fear and embarrassment). Led this human road along the slope of the hill, disappearing behind him, and then he thought, turning to the left the ravine, again spatula up and disappear again; and here, in this very spot, just channelise broken chain with a dozen smoky huts and pariwisata the bell tower of an old wooden Church. This last fact is more than just a bogey man, entrenched in the forest, in a thicket of hazel bezlimitnogo. He decided to wait for nights when it gets dark, and hoped that this long winter night before he has to pass imperceptibly thirty miles, and there, in the morning then again in the woods find themselves again in safety, until the next rush on open place…
Saw people that the evening something strange was going on in the air; the crimson red ball of the sun showed on the horizon, at that moment his only visible for the whole day; the crests of the hills had turned bright red, as if stained with pure gold. Quiet, quiet becomes a circle. Every sound, the light, the distant, and clearly the one in this deathly silence was heard. For five versts to the village of dull howling of the dog, but it seems like here, now, behind this Bush, the watchman wailed shaggy. Just visible on the road fast moving, black, dual point: we run a sled drawn by a small Tolstonogov the little horse, and the creaking of the runners and cut the ear; cannula horseshoe, hurt on the run on another, like a bell struck; he shouted, driving, fare, and roared across the steppe from this Beglika and sinking to the sound of his voice was joined by something else, an evil, wheezing, as if some invisible winged monsters was recorded over the snowy plain, tearing wave their wings fine snow dust… Quickly extinguished the last ray of crimson gold, “Zacarias steppe”, a local expression, and still nothing, everything is well visible, not entirely, but as individual jets swooped down the wind: will blow the snow with the open comb, it will wander a bit and leave. And again quietly, elsewhere spinning… This is the most evil signs, the latter already westawski ferocious snowstorm, podvergalsya from the North-East.
“It’s time!” — thinks the man behind the bushes, takes his knotty stick, looks back two more times around and finally decided to appear from his hiding place…
Now “it’s time”! He was immediately struck by a strong gust of wind, with little legs is not a hit-and-gray coat opened. Hat on the head was Yakut, on the neck wound a scarf colored, legs gray pants, short, and the feet — one in his boot, and the other rags wrapped and tied with ropes; on this a foot traveler wore a special decoration — a heavy bracelet with a single link in the iron chain. Heavy was the bracelet, or from some other cause, only the traveler was walking unevenly, it is precisely this decorated leg was delayed on the road stronger stepping on another, devoid of decorations… Not old was this man, and not particularly young; the beard curly, small, straight nose, fine eyes large, dark (around the eyes and even darker), cheeks sunken, pale, a scar on one of them — must be at the twig in the forest ran…
Traveler gushes of wind in the side, gushing from the back, hits right in the face, and he himself is coming, Privalova on one leg, and is not afraid of Blizzard, though, it’s only the beginning; even though his delight, amuse these snow rushes, quick cleanup behind it deep traces of his feet…
Not once etched, who was in chase of the wolves is often chosen for its thieves hikes suitable weather. Animals do this consciously, hiding their tracks from the trained eye of an industrialist. Who knows, maybe this man was happy, looking at the snowstorm, submitting identical with the instinct of self-preservation. And walked and walked…
Now he saw nothing around him, covered from all sides raging in its full force Blizzard. He strayed from the path, time taken directions or no, he could not think. He walked, and only. All his task was to move my feet and tightly to wrap up in his tattered, gray coat. Lonely, lost in the chaos of the Siberian blizzards, this man still was.
