About the book: year / "...It became quiet in the forest, only Ofonya could hear the blood roaring in his ears, beating heavily. Soon he would suffocate and stop feeling and cold, and heaviness... No, it is not his destiny to die today. The air flows into his throat, there is cold snow on his cheeks, prickly like a grater, and someone rubs his face with this snow, rubs his hands, and his fingers feel the furry touch of the shaggy ones. paw... Oh, forest owner, what are you doing to a man?"