The spotlight holds up a small city in the wind.
The Wanderers soak in the night with food and drinks, cherishing this rare peace and harvest, not forgetting their companions who sacrificed in the war.
This ceremony is broad and comprehensive.
The family is like a strange protective umbrella.
It can share the pain of reality and the surface of the soul, but the deeper sorrow and individual thoughts seem particularly small before the barrier called the "big picture."
As long as the gigantic entity of the "family" keeps moving, the Wanderers will never stop.
They are protected and also swept along.
Talia sat on the outskirts of the bonfire, letting her thoughts wander, with two burly men lying beside her in alcohol stupor.
At this moment, she slouched in a gray vest, her elbow resting against the metal tabletop.
Condensed water formed deep traces on the tin can of Vodka.
