To the sound of the raindrops, Sergeyich examined his native walls, trees and fences, his little world, in which he had lived through all his troubles and problems, day after day, night after night. It – the trees, the gates, the doors and the windows – had up to this point protected him like a fortress, like a bulletproof vest. And all these years he had thought the opposite: that he was protecting his home, his land, his world. No, he had been wrong. Only now, when it was time to leave, did he realise it.
