It was early winter. The gloomy and low sky made one feel suffocating. A fall of snow a couple of days before had before had brought to the city dwellers a touch of brightness, but now what an ugly scene reigned! The raw wind sent the snow on the tiles along the eaves whirling in the air in tiny bits and adroitly making its way down the necks of the pedestrians by way of their collars. The streets had become slushy by exposure to the prankish sun, and the thawing snow was dotted with traces of footsteps.。
A plane appeared out of the blue from a direction only too familiar to the local inhabitants, roaring to the alarm of everybody, on whose face was written memories of some previous horrors. Kids, who had been crawling about over ruts playing a game of small clay balls, now stopped to look up at the strange dragonfly in the sky, subconsciously feeling that something ominous was going to happen. However, they soon lowered their heads again to bury themselves in the messy game as soon as the dragonfly disappeared from view behind the treetops.。
That was a grey iron bird by no means a stranger to ancient city. Everybody knew it was a scout with a multitude of “buddies” right behind it. With its straight wings spread out, it swept past sturdy old trees, quiet tile-roofed dwellings and lakes of imperial gardens, and circled over dazzling glazed tiles. It kept flying and flying. The ancient city, like a clumsy old man sitting there with his numbed legs crossed, looked on helplessly in face of what was taking place before him.。