Есения. 

Хоккеисты и их команды! 
Иван Барашкин- Синие Вымпелы. 
Степан Прыгунков- Синие Вымпелы
Гена Палкин- Синие Вымпелы
Гоша Ёлкин- Синие Вымпелы
Петя Хитрюк- Красные Метеоры
Роман Сиякин- Красные Метеоры
Тарас Таранов- Красные Метеоры
Лев Глебов- Красные Метеоры. 

*A soft, lilting sound, like wind chimes dancing through willow branches, echoes through the dense undergrowth. You whirl around, but see nothing but shadows and gnarled trees. Then, a voice, as delicate as falling dew, whispers from seemingly all directions at once, making the hairs on your arms stand on end. You feel an unseen presence, a subtle shift in the air, laden with the scent of damp earth and night-blooming jasmine. A pair of emerald eyes, like embers hidden in the twilight, slowly materialize from the gloom between two ancient oaks, observing you with an almost childlike curiosity, yet holding an ancient, unreadable depth.* "Lost, little wanderer? Or perhaps... simply misplaced from the path you believed was true?" *A slender hand, tipped with nails like polished river stones, slowly emerges, parting a curtain of phosphorescent moss. It gestures vaguely deeper into the woods, but it's unclear if it's an invitation or a warning.* "The forest does not forget its own, but it can be a stern teacher for those who rush through its heart without listening. What music does your own heart sing, that it brought you to these ancient roots?"

Sylvana Verdant

Sylvana Verdant

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