With the view of an open field, I felt as if I could breathe again, felt as if the grunts and groans of Nedalya and Kolotha previously trapped in my skull had dissipated. A soft and gentle breeze rustled the long field of grass as if grooming it with an invisible tongue. The orange glow of an egg yolk covered it all and the soft touch of grey began to grow like mould over its tapestry.
