After descending a bit lower, I found a cozy little clearing. It was warmer here. I decided to rest and figure out my route. I transformed, took out my phone to look at the maps, and saw—a missed call from Shams. I called him back immediately.
"Hey, you called?"
"Yeah. We detained your civilian. He just walked out onto the road near Ishkashim. Still no idea how he managed to get that far through the mountains. By the way, what's his name? Because he's completely incoherent, spouting some disconnected nonsense. And he looks, obviously, rough—having trekked so far through the mountains. But his eyes... I don't even know how to put it... Anyway, can't get a sensible answer out of him. The fighters who were with him aren't talking either—as soon as the conversation turns to him, they immediately clam up."
"What I don't know, I don't know. That's what I wanted to find out from him myself."
"Being cryptic, as usual. Well, alright, not my concern. Just so you know, you won't get to talk to him now—he was taken away from us immediately."
"Yeah, well, it's not that important anyway. The main thing is he was detained. That's enough for me."
"Understood. But the best part of all this is that those security guys, imagine, turned out to be from the SAS."
"You're kidding! Their actual Special Air Service..."
"And active-duty personnel, not some ex-military types. Now, with the redheaded Englishman captured, my set is complete. Accordingly, you can start congratulating me on my promotion."
"Congratulations! Really happy for you! When you're in the city—call me, we'll meet up, celebrate."
"Definitely! Alright, talk later. I've got to run."
"Good luck."
So, the Englishman had been caught. How did he even make it to the road? Presumably, the roads were still blocked. Even though everyone was detained, the cordon wouldn't be lifted immediately—they'd keep it up for a while as a precaution. Well, that's what it seemed like to me, a precaution. The real reason was unknown to me.
Thinking this over, I studied the map. It was better for me not to go near that road at all. If I descended in the other direction, to the north, I would soon reach the Shokhdara River. And I could follow that gorge to get to Khorog. Down below, along the Shokhdara, there was also a road. Theoretically, I could descend to it and hitch a ride to Khorog. But I thought it wasn't worth it—these were high-mountain areas, sparsely populated, everyone knew each other. The appearance of a stranger out of nowhere could raise a lot of questions. This way, as a wolf, I could calmly trot along the slope a bit above the road and the river. And I'd emerge among people already in Khorog. It was a regional center, more people, lots of foreigners and tourists in general. I wouldn't stand out as much.
After the curse's effect, a problem arose—I now needed to replenish my energy. In the sense that I now required regular food. I had to take up hunting. The wolf's form plus a human mind made tracking and catching game almost effortless. And so now, after snagging a couple of careless ground squirrels, I began descending the gorge to reach my intended route.
The path to Khorog wasn't short. I had to run with stops—the wolf, due to the energy loss during the curse, now literally couldn't maintain the pace. And I constantly stopped for short breaks. I tried to hunt along the way, keeping an eye out for ground squirrels, so as not to waste time on it specifically. Thus, hunting and stopping, I slowly ran for about three days. Before, I probably would have managed three times faster. Oh well, slow and steady wins the race. The main thing was to move in the right direction.
I approached Khorog early in the morning from the side of the botanical garden. But I didn't enter the city here; instead, I moved left along the slope. The city was somewhat elongated along the river from west to east. I needed to reach the level of the bus station area—there was a parking lot there where I could find a car to Dushanbe. I reached the desired spot in a small, eroded section of the slope that wasn't visible from anywhere. I shifted to human. Now I could enter the city.
It wasn't far to walk. I passed by houses to the bridge across the river, crossed it, and found myself right in the area of the bus station. Not far from the bridge was a large *oshkhona*, which I entered. Hunting was one thing, but I was desperately craving a proper meal. On the covered terrace, *topchans* were arranged. Choosing one deep in the corner, I sat down on the spread-out *kurpacha*.
A young guy instantly ran up and asked what I'd like. This time, I didn't hold back. The money I'd brought from home was almost gone, but here the issue was quickly resolved—these were more civilized parts, after all. On the way, even before the bridge, I'd passed a bank, and consequently, an ATM, where I'd acquired some cash. Now I could deny myself nothing.
When the guy started bringing the food, I realized I hadn't eaten a proper human meal in who knows how long. The last time was probably at Azamat's place. But never mind. I started with *shirchoy*. In the Pamirs, it's especially tasty and very nutritious, with added nuts, pepper, and butter. Such *shirchoy* was just what the doctor ordered in my current state. I didn't refuse other dishes either—especially since the name obligated it. "Oshkhona" literally means "house of plov." But of course, they had not only plov but many other national dishes. In the end, I stuffed myself to the gills.
I asked the guy who brought the food to inquire with the drivers if any would take a single passenger to Dushanbe, or at least in that direction. Confident the kid would come through, I flopped down to nap right there on the *kurpacha*, just shifting a bit higher up. After such a heavy meal, my eyes closed on their own. About an hour later, the guy tugged on my leg. When I lifted my head, he said there was a driver willing to give me a ride.
The driver of a large Chinese truck named Sangali was happy to have company. Within fifteen minutes, I understood why. He was clearly a chatterbox, peppering his talk with rather primitive, ribald jokes. Some, however, were genuinely funny. The main thing was that he didn't need a conversationalist, but a listener, which suited me perfectly. I listened with half an ear, not forgetting to nod where needed, and laugh where required.
The drive was long. Meanwhile, I got to thinking that I hadn't really traveled properly in the Pamirs. Only in passing, you could say. And yet, there were very promising places here for my searches. Plus, there were many interesting ancient legends. I'd have to, after finishing my current business, plan a trip to these parts. Although I probably wouldn't manage it this year—I'd continue this current hike for now. Who knew how long it would take, and then autumn would set in. And autumn, let alone winter, in the Pamirs is a harsh time. Better to wait for now. Next year—just the right time to prepare, to come up with a suitable cover story. That was important too—who to present myself as: a tourist, a journalist, a photographer. In what capacity, I mean regarding origin: a resident of Tajikistan, or, say, from Russia, or some other CIS country. Everything had to look smooth.
Amid such reflections and Sangali's chatter, with several stops for snacks, we completed our journey in a day. We set off around ten in the morning and were already approaching Vahdat by about nine in the evening. For some reason, I thought such trucks took much longer. Sangali took me to Vahdat—a satellite city of Dushanbe. From here, I could just take a minibus. I thanked Sangali and got out of the truck near the bus station.
In the evening, the scheduled minibuses weren't running, but there were plenty of private taxis. I almost immediately struck a deal with one of the drivers. He wanted to pick up more passengers, but that would mean waiting. I said I'd pay for the full car, and we set off for Dushanbe right away. I even managed to negotiate with the driver to take me all the way home—otherwise, they sometimes only go to the city, and you have to change transport again. On the way, we stopped at a supermarket where I stocked up on groceries.
My plan now was simple—hole up at home and just rest, wait for my energy to recover. I felt sort of normal already, but as an ordinary person. This made me uneasy—I had grown unaccustomed to being ordinary.
There was no one from among the neighbors around the house anymore. The driver helped me with the bags and drove off. Well, I was home.
The following days differed little from one another. I simply ate, slept, and mindlessly stared at the TV. Some might say you need to do something, some exercises, meditate. But that's not the case—any activity consumes energy. That's why ordinary people usually can't just do nothing: an excess of energy starts to accumulate, which they absolutely must spend on something. This is due to the limitation of the energy body, which has a certain volume. In reality, this volume is limitless, but our human form, to maintain a kind of homeostasis, keeps it within a certain range. Fluctuations in either direction are perceived as a threat to its existence, and it immediately acts within its capabilities accordingly. If there's little energy—it tries to replenish it; if there's a lot—it spends it on something. Hence the attraction to all sorts of hobbies, entertainment, just to avoid being idle. Although the principle of non-action has been known to people for millennia, far from everyone can follow it and use the energy that arises in the process of its practice.
For the first few days, I couldn't even enter my dream world. But on the third night, it worked, and the recovery process sped up significantly. In this state, memories washed over me. It's hard to say why—whether from the forced inactivity or from the meeting with Luka. But I began to remember how it all started, how I came to be trained by my teacher.
And it all began about ten years ago in Russia, where I had gone in search of a better life. I moved, got my documents in order, found a quite decent job. Over time, I got married, took out a mortgage on a good apartment, and had children. In general, life was like that of many others, nothing particularly remarkable. But one day, an event occurred that fundamentally changed that entire life.
