A dark summer evening, an hour before curfew. The air is heavy, ripe, like a black cherry about to burst from the heat and silence. The Rooster and the Dog walk through the forest — not because they have somewhere to go, but because they can’t do otherwise. The grass is taller than hope, and the branches creak like the old floorboards of a house long since burned down.
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Послання
October 2, 2025
2m
0.0
Shunia Nalysnyk
N/A
0