The Mist and the Lightning. Part V

He silently obeyed the established rules, but never participated in anything on his own initiative, preferring to sit, crouching against the wall, knees tucked to his chest and buried in his face. He had long hair the color of a raven's wing, and looking at how they scattered on his knees when he hid his face, how they touched the floor, I suffered because my long hair was once mercilessly and shamefully cut off, and now only barely grown to the shoulders. I was probably jealous of the fact that his hair did not touch, that he was not dishonored like me. My haircut now was a common hairstyle, not a noble warrior. I did not want to look at him and could not take my eyes off. I envied him some stupid childish envy, although I knew with my mind that there was nothing to envy! He had a beautiful pale face, perhaps even a little more childish, but no longer healthy: haggling sunken cheeks, not at all childishly protruding cheekbones and lips compressed into one line. As time passed, I grew stronger, and my curiosity grew stronger. And at some point, I do not know what came over me when he was nearby, I suddenly called him.

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