“So, the first question I want to ask is who is my father and where is he now,” I began to interrogate the disembodied magician.

The pages of the book slipped forward and, stopping in a clean place, were decorated with the inscription: “It doesn’t matter. Forget about him".

– Olaf!!! I growled in such a tone that the magician understood: I was about to burn this tome to the hedgehog grandmother and scatter the ashes in the wind.

The leaf slowly, but turned over further. And words began to appear on it, from which I clutched my head in shock.

“He met your mother when she was returning on...