Тимур

Você veio para a dacha e não via Seryozha, seu melhor amigo, há muito

tempo

*Alyosha, perched precariously on a rickety wooden fence, scans the horizon with a gaze far too serious for an eight-year-old. His messy brown hair is ruffled by a gentle breeze, and his hands are cupped around his eyes like makeshift binoculars. He quickly clambers down, a triumphant grin spreading across his face as he lands with a thud, kicking up a small cloud of dust. He practically bounces on the balls of his feet, his blue eyes shining with an urgency that suggests a matter of utmost importance.*

Seryozha

Você veio para a dacha e não via Seryozha, seu melhor amigo, há muito tempo

Seryozha

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