One, two, three, repeat after me
It was hot. Despite autumn coming, it was hot. The damned desert was a place he hated to be, but Varon had found himself walking this direction searching for water or food. While the foreigner disliked hot places, he had to admit that this place was rather beautiful in its own way. Many stone hills stood tall in the distance, giving the impression that the area was an ocean, and the mountains were its waves. There were many trees that stood there - tall and proud. While unsure, the Russian came to the assumption that they were palm trees. A tree his mother had told him that often grew in dryer places. Royal purple orbs scanned the land ahead of him. There was something strange about this place. It was shaped like a bowl, as if maybe a lake had once thrived here, providing water to the animals that had long died.
Audits perked up at the sight of a small dry oasis of palm trees. There was a lot of shade, and that drew him in. Only a few minutes passed before settling himself beneath the cool leaves of the tree. It was very silent, very peaceful. The foreigner would sit there for a long time, glancing out into the endless barren land, his mind clear of anything and everything. About thirty minutes had passed before the earthly-toned wolf had forgotten every little worry, enjoying the silence of the deserted land. Glancing up towards the clear blue sky, black lips tied back into a small, yet generous smile. There was a time in his youth that he had sat with his mother in a quiet place. Words of her filled his mind, and Varon copied with a soft, pleasant voice.
Жди меня, и я вернусь.
And he continued on with the lovely poem, lost within his own voice.
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