Play to live. Book 9. Road home. Rus D.

A candle of candle from the flesh burned out in the middle of the great nothing. Thousands of silent shadows, a flame of his soul, trembled on the tip of the wick, the flame of his soul. The local second of eternity for thinking and the shadow took up the artifact brush, the work of the hands of itself. The shaft is from the young shoot of the Tree of the Worlds. A brush - from the wool of the heavenly beast. The only one in this layer of reality. Star dust under the paws of his roads...