Igor came to his senses from burning cold dampness. He lay in a deep ravine, did not even lie, it would be more appropriate to say - he was lying around, like some alcoholic or homeless person who was not needed. A thunderstorm rumbled around, lightning flashed, rain poured down an unstoppable waterfall, a real downpour. Somewhere above, on the edge of the ravine, there was an alarming horse's whinnying. Where are the horses coming from? Where does this ravine come from? AND... where is Olga?! Olga! The young man shuddered, remembering the bloody knife of the priest and the girl's dying cry. Did you ever... Is this all true? For real? No, it can't be. Some nonsense. Well, yes, complete nonsense. The young man raised his hand - wipe his forehead... Something cold touched the skin. What's on his arm? Glove! Yes, not simple, but skillfully woven from wire!