Feriel fell silent, and Il buried her nose in his hair. The boy smelled of moss, dry spruce needles, and a little baby shampoo. She loved him, but she did not feel that same sacred and some kind of painful motherhood that they talk about in poetry, sing in songs. No, she would not have abandoned Feriel now and would not hesitate to give her life for him, but, fir-tree sticks, where is that hill and trembling heart? Where is the feeling that she is a mother? And for the second son, who swam in her stomach like an angry bean, she also did not experience some kind of magical...