Popatan again, again to Holmgrad, but later. Much later. Century twenty-first... I apologize, seventy-fifth according to local chronology... Thoughts rushed like alarmed seagulls between the rocks. Booming, loud, messy. Somehow having taken a sitting position, I almost cubed from a high bed and froze in front of a low, but very wide, massive closet with a mirrored door. Touched his reflection with his palm... and recoiled. It's me?! This thin boy with brown hair, turned up like a hedgehog's needles, is that me now? Again?! Hysteria subsided, the mind habitually fettered the splash of emotions, hiding them for the time being somewhere in the depths of the subconscious, and I was able to evaluate the metamorphosis that occurred a little less biased. It is clear that something out of the ordinary happened to me, but this does not mean that you need to sit on the floor right now... by the way, not dyed, but scraped, and begin to mourn the old life.