When they were carrying Rosil on a stretcher, he regained consciousness for a while. He opened his eyes and discovered that his horizon was no longer defined by the edge of the pit, framing the sky. The objects around him were moving. The floor on which he lay was jolting. His horizon was obscured by a large face with a black beard. It bent down to him and said something, but he was too weak to register what the bearded face was saying. He fell asleep as they took him inside a building. When he woke they were gone. He was lying in a white room. Opposite him there was a huge window through which bright sunlight was streaming. Another two beds identical to Rosil's stood on either side of the window. Someone was asleep on one of them. Sitting on the other was a fellow in a white night-shirt, and he was staring at Rosil. "Well I'll be damned!" he beamed, "so you finally came around, pal?" The man jumped off the bed. Rosil could hear the clacking of his cork clogs on the floor. He shut his eyes. The clacking approached his bed. "So, how d'you feel??" the stranger puffed in his ear. "I'm tired," Rosil said in a weak voice and opened his eyes. "I was trapped in a pit for a long time...in the forest...thank God they found me..." "Damn right it was a long time - you were there a week!" puffed the fellow in the nightshirt, „and that's the helluva long time!" Rosil was not best pleased when he perched comfortably on the bedstead. "You're lucky you got out alive! You were in there the longest of anyone!" Rosil wanted to ask something but he felt fatigue taking over and fell back into the soft depths of a sleep that promised to restore his lost strength.