Ivan was still seated on the bench in the outskirts of Svetlana in the snow as the sun was disappearing. The air was cold and quiet. His hands were tucked under his arms, and his coat did very little to keep the chill away. Snow had started to settle on his shoulders and hair like dust. Then someone walked up to him and gently put a warm blanket over him.
It was a kind woman in her sixties. Her hands were wrinkled, and her voice was soft. She dusted the snow from his head, her touch gentle and motherly.
"You must be cold," she said with care. "You've been sitting here for a while." She pointed to a small cottage a few meters away, smoke rising from the chimney. "How about you come into my house for a while?"
He said nothing. He was still shocked by her gesture. No one had been kind to him in a long time. Not like this. Not like a human being.
She insisted, shaking her head. "It's very cold and it isn't good for me joints. Are you coming or not?"
