The dumb furnace is being repaired silently in the nuclear dust, and the rusty warbler is selling hope among the corpses. When Little Nail heard the whisper of scrap iron, the hyphae of diphtheria began to devour the memory, and the gray crow's sword pointed directly at the rusty warbler's throat - none of them knew that the buried ark was slowly awakening through each of their bodies. This is not survival, but a resurrection ceremony for the old gods.
So beautiful. Five-star praise