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𝖾𝗂𝗇 𝗀𝗅𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗌𝖾𝗇 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗍 𝖺𝗎𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗋𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝗈𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝖾𝗁𝗅𝖾 𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗂𝖾 𝗓𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗅, 𝗌𝗈 𝖺𝗅𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗍 𝗂𝗁𝗋𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗍𝗓𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖽𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗆𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗁𝗍 𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝖺𝗎𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗇.
„𝗐𝗂𝖾𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗋 𝖽𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝗇𝗇 𝗇𝗂𝖼𝗁𝗍?" 𝗏𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝖾𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗀 𝗓𝗂𝖾𝗁𝗍 𝖽𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝖺̈𝖽𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝗁𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗓𝗎𝗋𝗎̈𝖼𝗄 𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝖾𝗀𝗍 𝗌𝗂𝖾 𝖺𝗎𝖿 𝗇𝗈𝖾̈𝗅𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗓.
„𝗃𝖾𝗍𝗓𝗍 𝗀𝖾𝗁𝗍 𝖽𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗆𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗁𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝖽𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗂𝗇, 𝗌𝗂𝖾𝗁𝗌𝗍 𝖽𝗎?"
𝗇𝗈𝖾̈𝗅𝗂 𝗄𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝗂𝗌𝖾.
„𝖽𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗓𝗎 𝗏𝗂𝖾𝗅 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗄𝖾𝗇, 𝗌𝗎̈𝗌𝗌𝖾. 𝗄𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝖽𝗎 𝗎̈𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖺𝗎𝗉𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝖼𝗁 𝗄𝗅𝖺𝗋 𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗄𝖾𝗇? 𝗐𝖾𝗂𝗅 𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗄𝖺𝗇𝗇'𝗌 𝗇𝗂𝖼𝗁𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝗁𝗋."
𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗋𝖺𝗌 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗄𝖾 𝗆𝖺̈𝗁𝗇𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝗁𝗎̈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝗌𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗌𝖼𝗁𝗇𝖾𝗅𝗅. 𝗂𝗁𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗎𝗀𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝗀𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗀 𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗁𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝗐𝖾𝗀𝗍 𝗌𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝖾𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝗍𝗎̈𝖼𝗄. 𝗃𝖾𝗍𝗓𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗀𝗍 𝗌𝗂𝖾 𝖺𝗎𝖿 𝖽𝖾𝗆 𝗌𝗍𝗎̈𝖼𝗄 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝖿𝖿, 𝗐𝗈 𝗌𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝖽𝗂𝖾 𝗐𝗈̈𝗅𝖻𝗎𝗇𝗀 𝗏𝗈𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖾̈𝗅𝗂𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝖻𝗁𝖾𝖻𝗍.
𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝗈̈𝗋𝗍 𝗇𝗎𝗋 𝗇𝗈𝖼𝗁 𝖽𝗂𝖾 𝖻𝗎̈𝗌𝖼𝗁𝖾, 𝖽𝗂𝖾 𝗂𝗆 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝖾𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝗋𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗆𝗈̈𝗐𝖾, 𝖽𝗂𝖾 𝗂𝗁𝗋𝖾 𝗄𝗋𝖾𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝗎̈𝖻𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗓𝗂𝖾𝗁𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗍𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗇𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗐𝗎̈𝗋𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗇 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁𝗍.
𝗇𝗈𝖾̈𝗅𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗆 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗁𝗅𝖾𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗍 𝗌𝗂𝖼𝗁. 𝗀𝖺𝗇𝗓 𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖿𝗍 𝗌𝗉𝗎̈𝗋𝗍 𝗌𝗂𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝖽𝗋𝗎𝖼𝗄, 𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝗎𝗋𝖼𝗁 𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗂𝗁𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗍𝖾𝗂𝗅𝗌 𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗁𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗍𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗍. 𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗎̈𝗁𝗅𝗍 𝗌𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖽𝖺𝗆𝗆𝗍 𝗀𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗇, 𝖽𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗁𝗓𝖾𝗁𝗇𝗃𝖺̈𝗁𝗋𝗂𝗀𝖾 𝗓𝗎𝗀𝖾𝖻𝖾𝗇. 𝗈𝗁𝗇𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝗓𝗎 𝗎̈𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗅𝖾𝗀𝖾𝗇, 𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗓𝗍 𝗌𝗂𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗍 𝗄𝗅𝗈𝗉𝖿𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗆 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗓𝖾𝗇 𝗓𝗎 𝖾𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝖺𝗇.
„𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗋 𝗃𝖾𝗍𝗓𝗍, 𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗋𝖺?"
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𝙒𝙀𝙉𝙉 𝘿𝙄𝙀 𝙒𝙀𝙇𝙇𝙀 𝘽𝙍𝙄𝘾𝙃𝙏 - noëli und maira
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