“Yes…” answered the sky in a calm voice with a slight rasp.

 

Many thoughts whirled in Eliam’s head. His snow-white wings kept shivering, shaking off the snow. He strode with long steps through the streets of an old town tucked away in the back of beyond.

 

Suddenly he heard sobs—held back, but ready to spill into full-on crying. On a bench, hunched from the cold, sat a small figure. Knees tucked up, hands hidden in her sleeves, fragile shoulders trembling at every sob.

 

Eliam stopped dead.

What should I do? he thought. I can’t walk on while a young soul is suffering here.

 

“Hey,” he called softly, almost in a whisper.

 

The figure flinched, straightened up, and looked at him with frightened eyes.

 

“Hey,” he repeated, crouching so he could look her in the eyes. His voice was kind, with a rough rasp to it—kind, all the same.

 

“I see.”

 

“What? And who are you?” asked the frightened face, now tinged with curiosity.

 

“I’m Eliam. I’m an Angel. And I see fear and anger in you at the same time. That’s common for teenagers. Where are they, those feelings—where do they hide inside you?”

 

“Who?” The girl sniffled, confused.

 

“Your fear and your anger.”

 

“Oh… I don’t know… And why do I have them?”

 

“But they’re yours. So they’re not coming from outside, not from home—they’re from within. And now they want to burst out—through tears.”

 

“I never thought feelings were inside…”

 

“One thing at a time. Fear. You’re afraid of something, and because of that something in you won’t work. What’s refusing?”

 

“My legs,” the girl breathed. “They won’t take me home. I just can’t get up from this bench. As soon as I think about what will happen at home, my legs go weak.”

 

“What will happen?”

 

“I… I lost my phone,”—the sobs broke into crying—“My parents will get a-a-angry… Again I’m ba-a-ad… so ca-a-reless. They’ll scold me, then sit there gloomy. In our town everyone always walks around displeased and angry. And now me on top of it…”

 

Suddenly her face changed. Cold flashed in her eyes, her cheeks flushed.

 

“I hate myself! Aaaah! Take that!” She slapped herself hard on the head. Her voice cracked into a rasp.

 

Eliam rose sharply, spread his shining snow-white wings, and pressed his palm to his chest.

 

“Here, right here? Is there fire—where it should be warm and calm. Yes?”

 

“A burning… red-haired fire.* It hurts so much…”

 

He took a flask from his bag, poured warm aromatic tea into the cap-cup.

 

“Here. Water will tame the fire. And the scent and sweetness of forest berries will leave only clean warmth.”

 

It felt good to hold the cup in frozen hands. The first sip—and warmth spread through her, carrying away the scorching hate.

 

“Do you know what just happened?”

 

“…”

 

“Your soul was burning. It flared up from old grievances, reproaches, scoldings. But that’s not who you are.”

 

“But I did lose the phone. It’s expensive…”

 

“Yes, you lost it. Yes, that’s upsetting. But that’s an action. And you are you. An action and a person are different things. The same person can make mistakes and do good things. What matters is drawing conclusions. Remaining yourself. And moving on.”

 

“But my parents… it is my fault they’ll be angry…”

 

“No. You aren’t the cause of their anger. Sometimes people are angered by tiredness, sadness—something of their own. And even if the loss upsets them—that upset isn’t you. They’re upset at what happened.”

 

“That’s not the same thing?”

 

“They love you. They’re sad about actions. They rejoice at successes. Remember how they clapped at the Christmas concert?”

 

“Yes. They were smiling. Even laughing… Wait! How do you know?..”—she glanced at the wings—“Oh, right.”

 

“There. That was you, too. The one who sings. The one who loses things. The one who learns. All of it—you. And your parents’ feelings are theirs. You can respect their feelings, but you mustn’t confuse them with yourself.”

 

Her tears had stopped. The warm cup heated her palms.

 

“I’m not bad… I love them.”

 

Eliam smiled gently and stood to his full height again, spreading his wings.

 

“Of course you’re not bad. You’re human. And humans lose phones. The main thing is—don’t lose yourself. And don’t scorch your soul with terrible words. Here—take this so you won’t forget.”

 

He held out a white feather, steady between his big calloused fingers.

 

“Thank you…”

 

Eliam dissolved into the snowfall, hurrying to care for other wandering souls.

 

The girl stood up. Her legs were no longer wobbly.

 

“Well then… I’m going home,” she whispered.

 

She carefully slipped the feather into her pocket… and suddenly—out fell the “dead” phone, heavy as chocolate.

 

“Ah! It just conked out! Eliam! There’s a hole in my pocket!” she cried joyfully right into the snowfall. And added softly: “Thank you for the little feather!”

 

“Yes…” answered the sky in a calm voice with a slight rasp.