Under the green canopy of the forest, where the trees stood majestically like silent guardians, Clumsy and Painter walked deeper into the thicket. A cool breeze pleasantly tickled their faces, the trunks of the trees whispered soothing melodies, and sun rays filtered through the leaves, creating magical patterns on the ground, like the shadows of fairy-tale creatures.

Painter walked ahead, his good mood resembling the winter sun—bright and warming, capable of driving away the darkness of gloom. Clumsy trailed a little behind, his attention captivated by the details of the forest, as if he were collecting treasures from the bottom of the ocean. Bright flowers, blooming under the gentle touch of sunlight, delighted the eye, while the melodic chirping of birds created a symphony of joy, reminding them that life is a celebration in every moment. Each step brought him closer to something new, once thought unattainable, like a dream on the horizon's edge.

— You know, Clumsy, — began Painter, not even looking back, — I often zink about ze multifaceted nature of ordinary tings. For example, have you ever noticed how beautiful ze flowers become after ze rain? Zey seem to come alive, like a slap of inspiration.

Clumsy just nodded, his thoughts spinning around the fear of dropping the basket again or getting tangled in the roots of the trees, like a leg in a pitcher. He held himself back from getting distracted by his own worries and instead focused on the bright red berries, calling to him like jewels in a treasure hunter's chest.

— And ze trees... Zey can bring so much joy, so many sensations and newness. Have you ever seen how beautiful it is here at sunset? — continued Painter, not losing his pace. But it seemed his friend was lost in another dimension, where the sounds of the forest created their own symphony. — Clumsy?

— Hawh? Did ya say somethin'? — asked Clumsy with a hint of confusion, as if he had just woken from a sweet dream.

— You know, Clumsy, — began Painter, turning to Clumsy, — I often zink about ze beauty of it here at sunset. Is somesing bothering you?

Clumsy lowered his head, not wanting to meet Painter's gaze.

— Nah... I'm fine, — he mumbled, as if trying to hide his thoughts under a blanket of words. — Gist got lost in thought.

— Well, all right, — replied Painter, not quite believing his friend's words but not wanting to press him. — We are almost zere.

They continued their way through the thicket, and after a few minutes, Painter stopped. Before them, like a carpet, spread bushes with bright red berries, enticing like jewels in the crown of the forest. They sparkled under the sunlight, their ripe color reminiscent of fire — bright, alive, and full of promises.

— Golly! — exclaimed Clumsy. — Thayure's so many uh 'em hare!

Painter, pleased with his friend's excitement, leaned down to one of the bushes.

— Oui, nature, like a true artist, she is generous with 'er fruits, — he said with a smile. Clumsy nodded, and his gaze swept along the row of bushes.

— «How to not spoil 'em...» — a thought raced through his mind. With the tenderness he approached the finish line of his art, he understood that the berries needed to be treated with respect. Clumsy carefully approached the bushes, inspecting each berry closely. His hands, slightly trembling with excitement, began to gently gather the bright red fruits. He held each berry in his palm as if they were jewels that could easily crack if he squeezed too hard.

Clumsy's gaze occasionally turned to Painter. He was joyfully studying the nature around him, as if every detail was part of a grand masterpiece. Painter passionately spoke about how the flowers were not just beautiful, but full of life — how a simple detail could become the foundation for creating something magnificent.

Every word he spoke echoed in Clumsy's soul, and he began to feel a growing respect for the world around him. This thought took root in his mind when he suddenly realized that he, too, could become part of this art. His hands reached for the berries once more, and he gathered not just the fruits but also his quiet dreams of seeing beauty in the simplest things.

«When my eyes are closed, I see the world in a different light… »

— An in thet laht, evur moments filled with meaning. — he whispered, not quite believing his own words. Clumsy looked again at the bushes. The bright berries, like a promise of somethin' greater, called out to him.

— Look at us, way done good!— Clumsy proudly raised his basket. — Looks lahk way're gonna havuh feast tuhday!

Painter, slightly pulling away from his thoughts, assessed the fruits of their labor.— Well done, Clumsy. I zink this will be enough for Papa.

— Ah hope so.

Holding their baskets in hand, the Smurfs happily set off back to Smurf Village. Pride in their successful gathering filled them. In their minds, images of the evening feast danced: smurfy pies, fragrant smurfberry juice, laughter, and joy. Smurfette would, as always, invite everyone to dance. But Clumsy felt uneasy. Ever since he looked out at the village from his home, he sensed that something was off.

— Did ya heard that? — Clumsy asked, concern evident in his voice. Painter looked at Clumsy, puzzled.

— I did not 'ear anything, — Painter replied with a smile on his face. — Maybe it's just ze wind or some animal.

— Naw, Ah defnutly heard sumthin'! — Clumsy insisted, continuing to look around. — It ain't lahk thuh wind.

— Maybe you just imagined it, — Painter tried to soothe him, a gentle smile on his face. — I 'ave been 'ere many times, and I 'ave never seen anyone. Clumsy relaxed a bit, but still felt a slight unease.

— Ah hope yawl're raht… — Clumsy said. His intuition had never let him down, though not everyone always believed it. — Can way speed it up uh bit?

They continued on their way, and with each step, the forest grew less safe and calm. Suddenly, as if in response to their worries, a voice echoed, making their hearts race faster.

— Hurry up, Azrael!
— Meow?
— You! You messed everything up again! Now we have to gather it all over again! Do you even understand how expensive the ingredients are?
— Meow-meow!

— Am I to blame!? Who asked you to mess up the potion?

Smurfs exchanged frightened glances, their eyes wide with fear. Painter grabbed Clumsy by the hand, and quickly glancing around, his gaze landed on the nearest bushes. They rushed there, as if escaping from something very bad. They held their breath.

Gargamel, whispering to himself about his sinister plans, walked forward, oblivious to his surroundings. His gaze was fixed into the distance, as if he saw not the forest but his dreams of capturing the Smurfs and turning them into a fine stew. But Azrael, sensitive to scents, especially that of a Smurf, had already caught their presence. He froze like a stone statue and lifted his head, like a hunting falcon ready to pounce on its prey. His eyes gleamed with greed, and his tail twitched restlessly, making a quiet crackling sound in readiness for the hunt.

— Azrael! What are you doing? — Gargamel turned to his cat, confused by his behavior.

— Meow! — Azrael hissed, staring at the bushes. Gargamel looked in the same direction as the ginger cat. He didn't see the Smurfs, but he felt that something was off.

— What's there, Azrael? — Gargamel squinted, cautiously scanning the surroundings. Clumsy, holding his breath, pressed himself to the ground, his heart racing in his chest like a trapped rabbit. He could hear every rustle of the leaves, every chirp of the birds, as if everything around was waiting for the moment to reveal their hiding place.

— What are we gonna do? — Clumsy whispered, turning his head to his friend. But Painter was no longer there. Clumsy's eyes widened as he looked around. He was alone and could only hear his own breathing. A wave of panic washed over him, and his thoughts immediately turned to the question: "Where did Painter go?" "What am I gonna do alone?" He glanced around, searching for some sign or landmark. But everything around him made it clear that he would have to make decisions on his own. He tried to calm down and focus, but it was no use. He needed to get out of there quickly, but where to go? He was alone among hostile trees and hidden dangers, and Azrael was about to find him and lead Gargamel right to him. Clumsy clenched his fists and jumped to his feet. His heart raced, but the panic began to fade. Fear dripped down his face like cold sweat, but he felt that now was the time for action, not fear.

In the next second, Clumsy, fists clenched, burst out of the bushes like a stone from a slingshot. His legs moved automatically, driven by the instinct to survive. He didn't look back, didn't know where he was running, just ran. He didn't even trip.

— A Smurf! Catch him, Azrael! — came the shout behind him. The sound of a drumbeat echoed in his ears—his heart raced wildly. Azrael, sensing the movement, snorted furiously and hissed, his golden eyes burning with malice. Like a shadow, he glided across the ground, kicking up clouds of dust behind him. He surged forward, giving Clumsy no moment's respite. Clumsy, catching a glimpse of the rapidly approaching cat, remembered that there should be a stream somewhere ahead.

Clumsy suddenly veered off to the side, deeper into the forest thicket, trying to outsmart the cat. Branches snagged at his hat and pants, leaves tickled his skin, but he didn't stop. In that moment, he saw it: a shimmering, twisting ribbon of water cutting through the thick green carpet. Clumsy dashed to the riverbank and skidded to a halt, pressing his hand against his side to calm his wildly beating heart. He sensed Azrael's approach, heard his snorts and dull huffs, but the ginger fur couldn't see him.

He spotted a tall, sturdy tree growing by the water's edge. Seizing the moment, he raced toward it; its branches, like snakes winding around the trunk, promised a quick ascent. He climbed nimbly, like a squirrel, grasping at the branches and using his short legs to push off and pull himself higher. His heart thudded in his chest from the exertion and fear, but he didn't stop. Reaching a sturdy branch at a modest height, Clumsy pressed himself against the trunk, holding his breath. He looked down, trying to spot Azrael, but the leaves and branches obscured his view of what lay below. Moments later, he heard the sound of dry twigs cracking under the cat's paws and realized Azrael was approaching. Clumsy held his breath, striving to become invisible to him.

Azrael, unable to see Clumsy, stopped near to the tree. He began to actively search for his tracks and sniff around, trying to catch a scent, and with annoyance, he clicked his claws against the sand. Clumsy felt a cold wave of fear run down his spine. Sensing the futility of his pursuit, the cat looked around in frustration and fidgeted nervously, his eyes shining. He realized that he had likely lost the smurf's trail. Snorting in annoyance, he turned and took a few steps away. Azrael left.

Clumsy slowly exhaled and pressed himself against the trunk of the tree. His body was still trembling from fear, but the tension was gradually easing. He opened his eyes and cautiously looked around. The forest appeared calm and quiet. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting shadows on the ground. Birds sang their songs, and the wind rustled the leaves. The world around him felt harmless once more.

«You laughing so hard at the fact that you're all alone.»

Clumsy felt disappointment and betrayal. He couldn't believe that Painter had abandoned him. He felt betrayed, lonely, and frightened. Like a wolf cub that had strayed from its pack.

— How did you let him get away? Useless bunch of fleas! — a voice echoed through the forest. Gargamel was still there, which meant it was too early to climb down from the branch.

Clumsy decided to linger on the branch for a little while longer, pressing himself against the trunk as if he was afraid that if he relaxed, he would have to run again. He felt his fear gradually subsiding, replaced by exhaustion. With a thoughtful frown, he gazed out at the water's surface, almost motionless. Sunbeams danced on it, like little Smurfs. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, and below was a peaceful and green meadow. A sense of calm descended upon his soul. And this world, penetrating his mind through his eyes, was too beautiful to withstand his exhaustion. His body began to succumb to drowsiness. He felt his eyelids growing heavy, and sleep began to consume him.

When my eyes are closed, I see myself in a large, cozy room. It's entirely covered with a soft, fluffy carpet, and the walls are adorned with paintings by Painter: green meadows, blue clouds, vibrant flowers. As I inhale the smell of freshly baked bread by the Baker, a smile spreads across my face and warms me from the inside. Sitting at a table covered with a white tablecloth, I gaze out at the snow-capped mountain peaks trying to hide behind the leaves of the trees. Smurfs are sitting nearby, playing in a symphonic orchestra: one on the harp, another on the flute, and a third beating a drum.

When my eyes are closed, I'm flying again over the forest on Feather's back, with Papa sitting beside me. We soar above the trees, above the clouds, and I feel the cool breeze. We're flying towards the magical lake, where the water is blue, like the sky and like a Smurf, and golden fish swim in it. We swim in the lake, play Smurfball among the water lilies, and watch the beautiful rainbow above the forest.

When my eyes are closed, I'm in a little house with a pink roof, built among the flowers. Smurfette lives there, and she's cooking something that smells incredibly delicious. She smiles and gives me a bright flower with a gentle fragrance. We play tag among the flowers, and she always laughs when I catch up to her.

When my eyes are closed, I see a world of happiness and joy. I'm among my friends, and we're having fun together, singing, playing, and laughing. No one is trying to catch us, no one wants to eat or boil us. We live in a world where there is no evil, and where we're all happy.

Clumsy, upon waking, felt his back aching treacherously. He was lying on a branch, awkwardly bent, and, judging by everything, had slept through a good half of the day. His hat had slipped over his eyes, completely blocking his view. He adjusted it and, with some difficulty, climbed down to the ground, looking around. Azrael and Gargamel were nowhere to be seen. He sighed with relief, but the feeling of anxiety didn't go away. He couldn't shake off the unpleasant sensation, as if he had been deceived, betrayed. His memory kept returning to recent events: gathering Smurfberries with Painter... The name of that Smurf, as if shrouded in fog, evoked a strange feeling of resentment in Clumsy. He was certain that Painter had abandoned him. He was his friend, they shared joys and hardships. Or wasn't he? Friends don't abandon each other in times of need, but he simply took off, as if nothing had happened.

«Wha did hay do thet? We're supposed tuh protect each other…» — Clumsy thought, trampling the grass in frustration. «Wun fahwar all Smurfs an all Smurfs fahwar wun... Yeah, thets defnutly not bout me».

— Who sayud yawl should worry? — Clumsy whispered, barely holding back an emotional outburst. He sank back into his memories. He remembered how they discussed the beauty around them while gathering berries, and how Painter was so absorbed in his work that he began to describe out loud everything he saw before him. How flowers weren't just beautiful, but full of life... How a simple detail could become the beginning of something special...

— An whudja do? — Clumsy asked himself. — Didn't yawl say thet hay wuz usin' yawl? Didn't yawl say thet hay wasn't chur friend? An it sayms hay took all thuh smurfberries an iz now boastin' tuh Papa thet hay gathered so many on his own.

Deciding not to just stand still, he, limping, hobbled to the clearing where they had gathered berries with Painter. He still felt the pain in his back, but the pain of betrayal was much stronger.

«Suddenly, suddenly, suddenly»

— «Have you ever seen how beautiful it is here at sunset? » — Painter's words came to mind. And only now did Clumsy understand the meaning behind his words.

— «And ze trees... Zey can bring so much joy, so many sensations and newness».

Clumsy had frozen, gazing at the radiant flowers, and it seemed to him that Painter was right. The sun, like a huge blazing ball, was setting behind the coniferous peaks, coloring the forest in the soft hues of sunset. The sky was like a canvas embroidered with golden threads, and the clouds floated across it like white ships in a sea of fire. Through the dense foliage, the rays of the setting sun broke through, illuminating each leaf with a golden glow. The air was filled with the delicate scent of pine resin, mixed with the earthy aroma of the forest. Every blade of grass and every twig seemed to be wrapped in a golden mist, and the air was filled with the magical hum of the descending night. Clumsy had noticed the extraordinary beauty of the sunset for the first time. He walked and watched as the sun slowly crawled below the horizon, leaving behind a bright and gentle afterglow. In this beauty, he forgot about his bitterness, about Painter's betrayal, and about the empty clearing. He simply breathed in this magical air.

«I'm alone in outer space,

Not a single friendly face out in front of me»

And at that same moment, everything came back to him, and he continued on his way. Clumsy kept walking, limping along the path they had taken to the clearing. Every step sent a pang of pain through his back, but he tried not to pay attention to it. Thoughts of Painter's betrayal swirled in his head. — «How could he?» — he repeated to himself, biting his lip in anger. — «We're friends, we're supposed tuh bay together, support each other.» Clumsy quickened his pace, his heart racing wildly. He was ready to pounce on Painter, to grab him by the throat, to force him to confess his betrayal. But at the same time, something deep inside him whispered: «Wait, you don't know the whole truth, and he did save you when he hid you in the bushes, maybe he was forced to leave...» But these thoughts were weak, like a delicate petal that the wind could blow away at any moment.

«Slow dancing with the past

Romancing every tragic little memory»

After some time, Clumsy finally reached the clearing. But what he saw there made his heart beat even faster. The baskets they had abandoned when they hid in the bushes were gone, as if they had never existed. — «He took them!» — Clumsy thinked. — «He took both uh them, an now he's probly boastin' tuh Papa thet hay gathered so many smurfberries!» Clumsy took a deep breath, trying to calm down. He still felt offended, but his anger was gradually subsiding, leaving behind emptiness and uncertainty.

Clumsy turned around and trudged back to the village. Every step was even more difficult for him - the pain in his back had intensified, and his head was still spinning with thoughts of Painter. He didn't know what to feel: offense, anger, disappointment... all these emotions were tangled in a knot that he couldn't untangle. He walked along the same path they had taken in the morning, past the trees that Painter had so vividly described. He remembered how Painter had been thrilled by their beauty, how he had told stories about every blade of grass, every flower... And now... now he couldn't even look at them without feeling pain. And again, he thought about him, again his thoughts were filled with him.

«And now I'm waiting on the line,

For the meaning of my life to come back»

Trying to switch his attention to something else, his gaze began to slide along the trunks of the trees, covered with moss and lichen. He noticed how the sunny yellow leaves of the autumn maple sharply contrasted with the dense green needles of the pine tree, which stood right next to it. He tried to imagine himself in its place, to feel its steadfastness, its unshakeability. He mentally pictured the roots, firmly grasping the earth, and the mighty crown, which confidently met any weather. But thoughts of Painter still returned. Clumsy remembered how Painter had once told him about the birds that lived in this forest. He imagined them chirping and tweeting, how they nested in the crowns. of the trees, and how they flew into the sky, free and happy. He felt a pleasant breeze that swept through the forest, rustling the leaves and humming its quiet melody.

But he still felt the pain in his back, and he still thought about Painter. He couldn't let him out of his thoughts. And suddenly, he saw Baker's cottage, then another and another, nestled in the shadows of the giant trees, the homes of the other Smurfs, arranged in such a familiar and cozy order, like a family. And the air began to fill with the amazing smell of fresh baking. The sweet, warm aroma of bread and cinnamon penetrated deep into his soul, and suddenly, he saw the smoke rising from Baker's chimney, and he already heard the voices. Painfully familiar voices, so dear and familiar, and so... sorrowful.

— And here ah go again. — whispered Clumsy, stepping onto the path that led to his home. — Looks lahk…nobody noticed thet Ah'm not in the village

Tomorrow, as always, a new day will begin. But little did he know what a horrible fate had prepared for him…

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