47

Edgar caught hold of a thick branch and easily pulled himself up on his hands, his bare feet deftly ran up the dry bark. It's business as usual. The guy chose a convenient fork between the branches and sat down, comfortably crossing his legs. He carefully pulled out a plump notebook and a special drawing charcoal from a canvas bag. He wiped his forehead and tossed a tight, blond braid behind his back, so as not to interfere. He let his hair grow in the manner of the Markats, trying to at least be like everyone else in this, at least to seem normal, but it still didn’t help.

Edgar has always been different.

And his passion for drawing didn't help much either. It wouldn’t be like a brother to practice with swords from morning to evening, maybe it would come out well. But no, Edgar was attracted by the beauty of the surrounding world, which, with an unbearable itch in his hands, he wanted to capture on sheets of paper. Stop the moment, letting it pass through you, as if gaining a kind of