Minotaur se to jutro probudio rano. Protrljao je nervozno svoje sapi koje su ga bolele od lošeg položaja prilikom spavanja. Bio je nezadovoljan. Još uvek nije uspevao da pronađe svoju poslednju žrtvu u lavirintu. Na ogromnu, pljosnatu lobanju, pala mu je kap vode. Bila je pomalo slana, osetio je kada je uspeo da je poliže vrhom jezika, dok mu je kap klizila niz obraz. „Kao suza„, pomislio je uznemireno: „Mora da negde visoko iznad dvorana, napolju, pada kiša“.

Kroz stoletne hodnike, čuo se zvižduk vetra.

 

The Minotaur woke up early this morning. He nervously rubbed his hip that hurted him from his bad sleeping position. He was dissatisfied. He was still not able to find his last victim in the labyrinth. A drop of water fell on his huge, flat skull. It was a bit salty, he felt when he managed to lick it with the tip of his tongue, while his stroke slid down his face. „Like tears,“ he thought agitated, „It must be high above the hall, it is raining outside .“

Through the centuries of corridors, the whistle of the wind was heard.

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