"Thank you very much, Mr. Batukhan!" I said, breaking free from the warm embrace of the jovial man. "I really want to see the island! I'm out to see the whole world!"

As I spoke the last word, a tremor ran through my body. Every time I shared that sentiment, my heart raced. A strange and exhilarating happiness filled my chest. Perhaps Batukhan understood that feeling well, as he started showering me with sincere and bright compliments, making me feel somewhat embarrassed. In the shade of a tall tree in Belabhumi, Batukhan spread a mat, inviting me to sit.

The young boy, Gutiguti, had accepted me as his father-uncle's friend. He approached me hesitantly, holding his hand to his cheek and widening his eyes in curiosity. Now, he extended his hand for a handshake. I seated him beside me and affectionately ruffled his hair. While most children might be irritated by such gestures, this boy was different. He seemed to enjoy the playful tugs on his cheeks. Mongolian children appeared incredibly innocent, a quality I found quite endearing. For a brief moment, I forgot all my worries and relished this simple interaction.

Meanwhile, Batukhan returned with a large dish of Harshu and Airag. I had arrived just in time for their lunch. The two brothers were eager to share their meal with me. Although I wanted to sit and dine with them, I hadn't eaten since last night and was too restless to do so.

Not far away, Armonia was grazing. I pointed at her and asked Batukhan how long it would take to circumnavigate the entire island on horseback.

"Half an hour," the two brothers replied in unison.

I realized the island was much smaller than I had imagined. It was at that moment I decided that in the next half hour, I would know for certain if Margarita had arrived on the island. I conveyed this intention to Batukhan, albeit with a hint of unease.

"Batu brother, how do foreign tourists come to your island?"

"They come often, but during a specific time of the year. Not this time." He paused, then added, "By the way, my name is Batukhan."

"Where I come from, we address each other as brothers. 'Bhai' means sugarcane. So, brother...where do foreign tourists usually arrive on your island?"

"They all bring their tents with them!"

"Did you happen to see a foreign girl yesterday? Nineteen years old, Spanish, tanned skin, short and coppery hair, with three moles on her face?"

The way Batukhan responded raised suspicions within me—strong suspicions. He replied hesitantly, saying that he hadn't seen anyone matching that description on the island.

I looked at him for a long moment. "Are you telling me the truth, brother? Believe me, finding her is of utmost importance to me."

"I have never seen anyone like that, Tan Bhai. I'm telling the truth," he assured me with a hesitant voice.

"Will you let me stay at your house tonight?"

"Of course..."

"Thank you very much!" Although I had no intention of staying the night, I needed to devise a plan with Faki. "Well, how large is the population of your island, brother?"

"There are ten families in total. Three houses in the market, four neighbors around here, and three families with houses near the creek to the northeast."

"I want to make friends with everyone. Is that okay?"

Batukhan nodded his agreement.

I realized that all of Batukhan's neighbors were imprisoned in Sadhasid. It seemed easier for me to visit everyone's yard and exchange greetings than to inquire about recent events. Surely, if Margarita had been around, I would have noticed some sign of her presence. Moreover, I was thirsty after visiting each house, and my stomach was swelling from the collected water.

As I followed through with my plan, it became evident that there was no sign of Margarita. No foreigner had arrived on the island in the past week, according to those I questioned. I described Margo's appearance to a few of them, but their responses remained consistent. My frustration began to mount.

Near the creek to the north, a troubling scene unfolded. A group of ten or twelve people had gathered around a figure lying on the ground. As I approached, I realized it was a lifeless body. It was undoubtedly the woman who had been killed at the market earlier that day. Without crossing to the other side, I moved behind a hill to observe from a distance. However, I faced a problem—there were no more settlements left on the island!

The island's central area was covered in mountainous forest. Margarita was nowhere to be found there. She wasn't playing a game of hide and seek with me. I was uncertain about what I knew. After taking another tour of the entire island, I returned to Ferighat. And then I circled it again. And again. I roamed the small island in such a way that I would surely encounter her if she were present. I deliberately avoided the northern creek, as I didn't want Hotkata to sense anything there. Finally, after one last round at the ferry terminal, I settled onto the pier and gazed vacantly at the expanse of water. Hunger gnawed at me then, and my stomach began to protest. It was late afternoon by the time I returned from my fruitless search. Disheartened, I made my way back to Batukhan's house.

Then, unexpectedly, I stumbled upon the Margarita Trail! On the black hull of one of the boats lined up on the beach, there was a message written in large white chalk in Spanish - "Tan and Esperanza, amigo!" A surge of emotions welled up within me. This couldn't be a mere coincidence. I called Batukhan over and showed him the writing. He seemed just as surprised as I was. He asked me to explain what was written.

"'Tan and Esperanza, amigo!'"

The man appeared taken aback. He expressed his surprise, saying, "What did you say? Esperanza? How did you know that?"

"I can read Spanish, brother. And the girl I'm searching for, only she could have written that sentence."

"Why are you looking for her?"

"Oh my friend, we came to the market together in Hatgal city. Suddenly, she decided to leave without informing me, and I'm certain it was for an important reason."

"In which country is your home, brother Tan?"

"Bangladesh."

"Is that in South Asia?"

I nodded in confirmation.

"If you don't mind, I have two questions to ask you. It's for your own benefit, brother."

"Go ahead!"

"Who is Esperanza?"

I furrowed my brows at the man. What was he talking about?

"What did you say?"

"Esperanza. The answer is crucial, sir. Please tell me!"

"I have a bicycle named Esperanza."

"Can you tell me the father's name of the person you're searching for?"

"Almanyo Rodriguez."

The man reached into his shirt sleeve and pulled out two pieces of paper. He read one to himself and then handed the second paper to me.

"Take a look!"

It was a note. I read it aloud. The sender had written in Spanish:

'You're a badass, sir! Why did you come here? One winter morning, you must immerse yourself in the waters of the magical lake for an hour and a half. Remind me if I forget. Senor Batukhan is a very good man; he fed me to my heart's content. A boat will be arranged for you and Armo. Both of you will disembark without a word and head straight to the ranch. Don't worry about following me. Your Esperanza is safe. Iti, M.'

I crumpled up the note as soon as I finished reading it. My frustration had reached its peak.

Batukhan probably didn't expect this reaction from me. He remained silent.

"When did she give this to you?"

"Yesterday! Did I make a mistake? But that young lady said, if you're not certain, don't give it to anyone!"

"Was she alone?" I asked, my voice betraying my lack of control.

"No. She was with two young boys, Mongolian. She arrived like a phantom on a bicycle yesterday evening, spent the night at my house somehow, and left the same way this morning. I didn't question her, but she seemed quite worried. She's in a very dangerous situation, pursued by an enemy named Feu, and she's also looking for a friend. It's as important for her to escape from an enemy as it is to convey a message to a friend. That friend is a young person from South Asia. She asked me to ask you those two questions. If your answers didn't match, I would have given you false information. I've never seen a South Asian man before, Tan Bhai, so I couldn't give you the news accurately at first. I'm sorry." He handed me another piece of paper, this time with Mongolian writing. Seeing the question in my eyes, he said, "Esperanza, Almanzo Rodriguez."

"Escaping from an enemy!" I exclaimed, suddenly startled. In an instant, all my worries multiplied several times over, and my mind became increasingly restless.

"Thank you very much, brother. There are very few people in the world who can help the girl. How did she leave? Did she take the ferry?"

"My brother himself brought her to the mainland on our fishing trawler."

"What's her next plan? Did she mention anything about that?"

'No!'

'Did you tell me anything else?'

'No!'

"Will you get me to the mainland too?"

'No!......I mean, sure'

'Excuse me, brother. I've been a little too mean to you. Actually, you understand….'

Don't say brother. Understood!' The man smiled sincerely, 'Get ready with your horse, my trawler will be ready for you in half an hour.'

Impatiently, I continued to walk in Belavumi. Unknowingly, I came to the market. Seeing a gar, I asked the housewife for some water. I went to ask for water, and fell down. A man sitting in the yard cutting a tree with a saw looked at me and was startled. This is the edge drunk! Dibyi is tearing the wood after killing his wife! I didn't wait to see what he would say, I turned and ran. I didn't even turn to see if he was coming back. After a while, I met Armonia! And Divya was wagging her tail and grazing in Belabhumi. At once I sat on his back, and he took me to the courtyard of Batukhan's house.

Mr. Batu understood the whole story in a few words. But there was no drunken Hangla thin man coming forward along Belabhumi!

'Forget about him Tanbhai! Pard is drunk, he often does this, there is nothing to be afraid of him, on the contrary, Vitur Dim is one.'

"He slaughtered his wife in the market a while ago" I told him dryly.

"Who?" The man looked at me in shock.

'himself'

'Apocalypse!'

"Yes, doom"

Call your horse and kill him. Don't be afraid of the waves?'

'No, don't be afraid, strong girl. And, it is impossible to stop him, knowing that his mistress will tie me to a cedar tree... Come on, let's go!'

I remember what Margarita said about Batukhan. While caressing her son before leaving, I slipped fifty thousand Tugriks into the child's neck without anyone knowing. I don't think I did a bad job. Dadu will surely not mind.

Batukhan's wife gave me some food in a doll. This beautiful woman with such a beautiful body is like a big ornament. I was very confused, whether money for that would be pure rudeness. Seeing the smile of the woman, I felt that it was the end of rudeness, she was also suffering a lot. So I just gave him a hearty smile.

In the late afternoon light, I bid farewell to Batur's family and sat under the canopy of his small fishing trawler. Armo stood on the deck.

Batukhan will take me down and go fishing himself. It will do so till late night. With luck it will stay overnight.

"What fish do you get, Batu Bhai?"

Salmon and trout are the most. But what are the prices available? If luck is good, a Siberian grayling is caught in the net. But luckily for me only Siberian roach!'

Siberian roach? Roach in my country is called Putimach! Siberian putty must be very big.

'Tis big, but a pike, or a grayling, can swallow ten roaches in one gulp. I caught a pike last summer, if you can see it! Taller than me, that one fish I spent three months sleeping!'

Say what! Looking at the calm water of Arribas' lake, I tried to imagine that there are really big fish under it!

'What's there to drop me off?'

"Nothing but salmon" was Batukhan's simple reply.

I laughed hearing his words.

I mean, what's the weather like there? Jungle? Equatorial? mountains? Is there a trail?'

Oh! Down you will find a steep. On the way up, the Tart-Hatgal highway runs north-south. The situation is the same, but the car runs through that place. To the west of the road you are now, to the east some hills, and the rest miles of bare fields, green grass, and pine forests.'

'Thank you.'

Although I thanked Batukhan, I could not find Disha. Tart or Hatgalmukhi must not have gone Margo, then he could have gone by boat. And, since he has a bicycle with him, surely he cannot wander anywhere in the forest without a path. I asked Batukhan with hope.

"Is there a trail to the west?"

I was supposed to shut up after hearing the 'innumerable' answer, but I didn't go. Taking the challenge. I will find the trail of the sloppy girl.

After about an hour we reached the shore. Armo and I jumped down into the sparkling Belavumi. A sincere farewell to Mr. Batukhan Byermer. One day I will meet the good-hearted man again, I thought. I waited for a long time on his way. He was suddenly lost in the rays of the burning sun as he slowly murmured gently in the calm water.

Come on, Armo! Let's go!" I urged the horse forward as I mounted its back. We descended the mountain slope, and as we rode, my mind raced with thoughts of what to do next. Batukhan's words echoed in my mind: "To escape from the enemy, it's important to send a message to a friend!" But where could this enemy have come from in the innocent girl's life? The image of that ghost named Anatoli came back to me, along with the presence of Russian businesswomen in Hatgal and the open Russian border. The thought hit me like a bolt of lightning. I also recalled Batsaikhan's words—his determination to marry her at any cost. If she were seeking refuge locally, there were only two places to consider aside from the ranch: Tart and Hatgal. But would she really head to Tart? That question remained the most challenging to answer. Would she return to Hatgal? There was a strong possibility that she might. Then again, she knew about my movements. But what did she know? And if she did know, why wasn't she waiting for me? However, it could also be that the note left with Batukhan was just conjecture, a contingency in case I somehow made it to that island.

Regardless, all of that was in the past now. I was currently in the midst of a transition, with not much of Aadhaar left to cross. Margarita Alvarez had reached this point as well—exactly twenty-four hours ago. What could she have accomplished in twenty-four hours?

Or if she had descended to lower ground, she could be miles away by now! There was a possibility that she might be as close as 20 miles from me. Presuming the worst, I began to pat Armo's back in a soothing manner. Another problem, one I hadn't yet considered, was what I would do at night. With Armo, I had opted to bring as little extra weight as possible. I had attached the saddlebag to the seat post of the bike. Remembering this, I felt a mixture of reassurance and unease. The reassurance came from knowing that at least the girl would get some rest during the night. The unease stemmed from the realization that the spring nights in the northern wilderness of Mongolia were significantly colder than the coldest winter nights in my country.

A decision had to be made soon. If I wanted to find Margarita, I would have to brave the uncertainty of the night. I knew that, with luck, I might even encounter a nomadic family by chance. While urbanization had made inroads in northern Mongolia, a substantial portion of the population still preferred the nomadic way of life, without a fixed address. To avoid this risk, I would have to carry the strange girl's note and make my way to Altentsetseg as swiftly as possible.

I had no intention of returning to the ranch; that much was certain. This affirmation led to a single conclusion: I must make my way towards Altentsetseg. There were no other considerations, only the one thought that held me captive—how could I return to the ranch when Margo was not there?

And so, I rode. I rode the horse throughout the night, tracing Esperanza's wheel tracks along countless unnamed trails that stretched from the lake's edge to the east. I wasn't an expert tracker by any means, often finding myself amused by my own efforts, but I couldn't stop.

Even Armo seemed to understand who I was searching for. He showed no signs of fatigue. Uphill after uphill, mile after mile, he carried me on his back. I shared the food I had brought with Batukhan's wife, drank from the creek, and gave the Appaloosa girl a half-hour break every two hours. I pushed myself, having cut through harsh winter conditions, galloping desperately through the Mongolian wilderness illuminated by the light of the moon. As dawn broke, I found myself gazing around with bleary eyes, my hands numb from the cold. Armo was breathing heavily, occasionally needing to slow to a walk. Finding a large rock, I dismounted and searched through my saddlebag for something to curl up with. Finding nothing, I lay down, huddled under the rock, with sand and earth piled over my body to ward off the cold. Covered up to my chest, I lay like that. Initially, I thought I wouldn't be able to sleep. After a while, it felt like I could sleep for two straight days. But when I eventually woke up to the sun's rays, it seemed that only three hours had passed. The time I had spent asleep felt like a dream, a state of half-awake consciousness. I felt groggy, like a dog that had been lying in the dust.

Ten minutes later, I looked at the snow-capped mountains to the north, took a deep breath, and headed towards them with Armo.

I had rarely felt so cold in my life. Even now, recalling that experience, I shudder. The harshness of that rugged wilderness was etched in my memory. By this point, the path I was following could hardly be called a trail. Gasping for breath in the nearly frozen air, I wondered if anyone had ever traversed this way before. But this path was rideable. That was what kept me going.

After noon, I crested a hill and spotted a vast pine forest ahead. Pine forests had always filled me with unease due to the difficulty of maintaining a straight direction within them. However, I hesitated only briefly before plunging into the forest. Pushing through with all my strength, I emerged from the other side onto a foggy meadow, and the sound of rushing water reached my ears. As I followed the sound, I was taken aback by its intensity. The sound led me to a canyon, and it seemed like the source of the noise was below me. It defied logic, but I surmised that the water must be flowing through a mountain, cascading somewhere far, far below, possibly giving rise to a torrential mountain river. Soon, I spotted human traces far below. At a distance, it resembled an abandoned village. Unfortunately, there was no way for me to reach it. The canyon ahead plunged into a deep abyss, with no visible path down for a considerable distance.

Taking another break and allowing Armonia to rest, I retraced my path through the pine forest and returned to the top of the previous hill. From there, I set off southwest again, this time scanning the landscape for a bicycle trail and Esperanza's wheel tracks. The southern path brought about a much-needed sense of relief. The desolate gray and white scenery gradually transformed into lush green, with birds chirping and the wind's sound becoming more tolerable. However, my restless mind didn't allow me to take comfort in these changes.

As the afternoon wore on, I lost all my enthusiasm. I sat atop a hill, gazing out at the wilderness to the south. Even the sight of something beautiful filled me with melancholy. I wanted to remain there, in that state. By this point, my stomach and back were nearly fused together, but the mere thought of food brought a lump to my throat. I lay down, staring at the lifeless sky, arms and legs spread out, tears dampening both cheeks.

Armonia's arrival startled me out of this state. He nudged my stomach with his snout. I looked at him and began to cry again. The warm afternoon breeze and the appaloosa horse's presence lifted me up once more. Armonia and I resumed our run. Suddenly, my mind cleared, and a jumble of thoughts began to form.

When had I taken this route, focused on the sky? I found myself atop a massive hill, taking in the vast expanse before me. The sun was setting in the west, casting a reddish hue across the sky. Once again, I saw Lake Khuvshgul, the sun hanging above its expansive waters. I had returned to the starting point of my journey from the previous day. There had been no sign of Margarita on the western trails. Now, I was back on the northern path towards Tart, and my frustration mounted. At this crucial moment, my heart skipped a beat. Mud-covered path. A small channel carved by muddy water. It sloped down, intersecting my path. There were no horse hoof marks, only the trace of a single bicycle wheel on the unpaved road. It seemed that a bicycle had been ridden here, with the front wheel leaving an imprint. The direction indicated north—the same direction I was heading. She had likely ridden uphill from here. Margarita was ahead of me, moving north. I needed to run as well. I had to reach Tart, across the lake.

"Come on, Armo!" I urged the Appaloosa horse as we sped northward. Margarita could ride a bicycle, following a trail that roughly paralleled the highway. A highway! I couldn't help but laugh, recalling Batukhan's words. It was a road of stones, soil, and broken bricks that turned to mud when it rained. The path was visible from a distance, devoid of human presence. The surroundings grew much quieter. This was the highway.

I took out a lighter from Armonia's saddlebag. I needed to eat, and I retrieved it with a sense of urgency. It contained my favorite audio player—an item I cherished. If I could afford it and if I truly wanted to, I could listen to old-time music at high volume. There was some battery life left in it. It looked as if I would be walking through the night once again. Suddenly, my mind felt lighter, and the fear that had gripped me was gone. I began to think about which songs to listen to. "Maya" by Artcell—it was the perfect choice. If there was one song that could capture the essence of the world, this would be it.

The sun disappeared behind a mountain suddenly, and soon after, darkness enveloped the landscape. Under the evening star's light, I noticed a swamp and allowed Armonia to rest. He grazed, drank water, and engaged in playful antics. Taking a moment to look at the compass and map, I reassured myself of my course. Tart lay about forty kilometers northwest from my current position. As the wind began to pick up, I braced myself for its cold bite. The wind was so frigid that my skin felt like it was being sliced. My long, thin hair started flying around my unkempt face when I removed my hat. In that moment, I glanced up in horror. Though no cloud shadows could be seen, the sky on the horizon seemed ominously black. It seemed that a storm was brewing for tonight, to complete my 16th-grade trial.

As I traversed seven kilometers against the wind, I came across another swamp and halted. It occurred to me that I hadn't showered in three days, and I was growing incredibly sleepy. I needed a jolt to shake off the fatigue. Realizing there was no one around to see me, I cast a quick glance around, removed all my clothes, and plunged into the water, hoping for a wake-up call. The water wasn't as cold as I had expected. After a few minutes, I dried my body with my clothes and layered on three sets of clothing. As I laced up my last shoelace, a sense of calm washed over me. I was ready to ride through the night, to retrace Margarita's trail.

After a brief rest, I resumed my journey, creating a playlist of my favorite songs on the audio player and setting off. By this time, the moon had risen—thirteen days into its cycle. Despite the continued wind, the night's gray illumination transformed the green desert on both sides into a subdued gray. But visibility remained good. Amid this seemingly monotonous scene, a mirage emerged suddenly. It could be called nothing else but a mirage. I saw a large rock on the slope to the east, about a hundred meters from my path. Under the light of the full moon, a serene human figure sat on the grass, facing the rock wall. A two-wheeler was parked beside the figure, as if I had known it for ages. The trekker had pitched a small tent, with a steep gorge on one side. A feminine silhouette was engrossed in something she held, looking down. Her shoulder-length, unruly hair gave the impression that she had turned her head suddenly. She looked at me, and even from a distance, I could discern the smile on her enchanting face. Just like…

Suddenly, my vigor waned. My mind was filled with profound joy. As if all strength had drained from my body, I nearly slumped on the horse. I had so much to say, but I didn't want to say anything at all.

I don't know how much time passed or if Armonia recognized her mistress and moved forward eagerly on his own with the reins in his mouth. Margarita rose, her hands resting behind her in a casual pose, and I slowly moved to stand in front of her. Gradually dismounting from Armonia's back, I settled down where Margarita had been sitting moments earlier. Margarita's head disappeared into Armonia's chestnut mane. He whispered, and the horse nickered. I watched the two of them in silence. I realized that my audio player was still playing. I turned it off. It was Margarita who spoke first.

"¡Hola, Señor! ¿Cómo estás?" ("Hello, Sir! How are you?")

I merely looked at her. I couldn't fathom what that gaze contained. I found myself at a loss for words.

Margarita smiled softly, revealing her teeth. It was a smile that seemed to hold years of spontaneous charm. All the anger, indignation, worry, and fatigue that had accumulated over three days surged through me in a single moment and then ebbed away forever. I lay back on the grass, staring up at the cold, star-studded sky. The deep night, the gusty wind, and our silence remained unbroken for a few moments.

"Wow, you seem to have quite a spread of food! You mind sharing a thunderbolt?" she said.

I couldn't help but look at her questioningly. I had taken out two energy bars earlier, intending to eat them while riding. One of the bars had fallen to the ground, and Margarita picked it up and asked. That's when I looked at her face. Her zigzag came out three days ago. The new clothes were covered in dust. Her braided hair had vanished, and her hair now lay disheveled on her shoulders. She looked tired and worn, with sunken eyes and a long, dry cut on her lower lip. Yet, her face was adorned with a perpetual smile.

I got up and retrieved the doll that Batukhan's wife had given me from Armonia's saddlebag. I handed it to her without uttering a word.

She said, "Thank you," and started eating. However, as she sat down to eat, she began munching on grass instead. I recognized the telltale signs—she had a half-empty stomach.

"Why, Margo?" I finally asked, breaking the silence.

"Did you scream yourself hoarse, or is it the cold that's making your voice sound so froggy?" She paused, her mouth still full. "You sound like a frog," she commented, continuing to eat. Her lips closed as she chewed, resembling a rabbit, and it was an oddly charming sight. She resumed speaking with a mouthful of food.

"Why?" I asked the same question again, in a monotone.

'I got a lot of sleep, sir, believe me! Let me sleep tonight, then favor! Call me as soon as dawn breaks, and I will jump up!'

'Why Margo?' As if I'm talking in the middle of a whirlwind!

Then he narrowed his eyes, pursed his lips and looked in such a way that I laughed with my teeth!

Eat eat and sleep

'Gracious!'

More toys and more. got me I agreed. He began to drool as he ate. Both eyes are bright red, half-lit. I didn't ask him anything else. After eating, he went straight into the tent, he didn't even remember about Armonia. I was staring at Esperanza. Not even a minute later, I came back and peeked inside the tent to see the girl sleeping soundly. White eyes and forehead are out of the sleeping bag! A soft smile played on my face. My tabuta, bought as a hobby from the old Elephant Road in Dhaka, has probably never been used more. It was a two man tent. I would sleep, and I would carry the larger than necessary tent so that I could keep Esperanza with me. But Margarita is sleeping there. That calculation is therefore meaningless. No matter how big the tent is, I can't sleep there! Already the air has become quite cool! I can hear the deep breathing of the girl. And me?

I approached Armonia. I have to spend a long night. So I took time and took off her saddle. After scrambling, I found a place behind a hill, in a rock crevice, where the horse would be sheltered from the cold wind. As Margo caresses, I melt my head in her saffron and tickle the sweet girl. Then I came back to Esperanza. The entire bike, even its spokes, is shiny! Margo Otter took great care, I understood easily. And I didn't sleep with Armonia for a few days, I thought I was dead!

A little north of where Margarita hangs the tabernacle, is a hill. The tallest in the neighborhood. I went there. Before leaving, I took the margarita scarf that had been carelessly left on Esperanza's handlebars. I wrapped it around my neck like a muffler. I played the song again on the audio player. After that I went to the highest place and lay down leaning on the slope. Margarita's favorite salad comes with a scent of lilac flowers. I don't know how it happens, but it always amazes me. Who knows, maybe it can be an abuse of rights. But, I think, if I had asked Margarita for permission to use the shawl, she would not have agreed.

As the night begins to set in, the moon continues to rise higher and higher in the sky. When he plays hide-and-seek with the cloud, it seems so strangely beautiful to me! Lying on the ground with a huge heart like space, I kept thinking about the sky and the sky.

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