Struggle. Prisoners of Darkness - стр. 19

"How's your arm?" – Maria asked, stroking the row of bandages wound from elbow to fingers.

"Fine," Raphael replied and stroked her braid that hung from her head and down to the middle of her back. "I know your 'fine'… Does it hurt?"

"No, my love, it doesn't hurt…? Did my father send you here?" "Yes."

"Did you tell him?"

"He already knew when he came to me. I just confirmed it. You didn't have to?" "I must, I must, Mash… Did you tell me about the baby?"

"he realized it himself… I threw up right in front of him…" "Oh, and you're also asking me about my health." "Beloved. It's common in pregnancy…"

"Yeah I know, but whatever."

"That's all the same, Gavriil Vladimirovich sent me here."

"Did you get there without adventure? Didn't anyone from the tower ask about it?" "No. They were sleeping there."

Raphael laughed a little, then said, "That's who we lost to."

"You know, I've been thinking… I think you're overthinking this…" "Mash, that's what everyone's thinking."

"Yes, but you're special… Here, what were you reading just now?"

"Raphael didn't though as he held out a book to her. "Twentieth Century Terrorism. "So what is it?"

"It says so right here."

"Yes I can see that… Beloved." "What?"

"I'm afraid for you."

"And I'm afraid for you and I don't want you to live here."

"And what do you suggest…? It's not our fault it's like this. We just have to get over it."

"No. Stop worrying about it. This is the fourth generation we've been doing just that. It's time to change things." "Beloved, please don't do this. You know how rebellions end. Please, love, don't leave me… We're going to have a

baby soon. Think of him. Please… Don't go and die," Maria was saying it from that part of her heart that can only be spoken to someone you care for more than anyone else in the world; for five days now she had seen him somehow different, she didn't know how, but definitely different, and there was nothing more frightening than that shape.

It is not a problem to imagine what a person living at home who "disagrees" with something is like – as a rule, outwardly he does not differ from the "agreeing" person; maybe he even thinks the same way, only in the "other" direction.

But if this "dissenter" took up arms, not because he is so used to it, but because he was brought to it, his appearance changes to "indefinable recognizability". And that means the following:

The first is escaped slaves (and from completely different places: sawmill, mine, rig – anything) becoming themselves within the framework of free runaway;