The flies settle on Nazar's face. Annoyed, he raises his hand and slaps his own cheek hard to swat them — when he pulls his hand away, a cloud of dead flies drops onto his lap and the ground. Nazar freezes, then stares down at his own palm with wide astonished eyes, amazed at how many he killed, a proud disbelieving look spreading across his face. Keep Nazar's face and clothing exactly the same...
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