Read Novel Full Chapter 387 AWARENESS
Chapter 387: Chapter 387 AWARENESS
SERAPHINA’S POV
Training ended with the satisfaction of a victory.
The clearing gradually emptied as the others shifted back into their human forms, laughter and low conversation drifting through the tall pines.
Yet as we walked back toward the pack houses, the crisp evening air cooling the heat of exertion still clinging to my skin, my mind refused to settle.
Because the image had returned.
Ash.
Blood.
Kieran on his knees.
I could still see, in awful detail, the way the blackened earth drank his life like rain.
I’d tried pushing it aside for days, focusing instead on Celeste and Catherine’s drama.
Maybe it was the cleansing effect of training—or because I was training to court danger.
Either way, that damned vision was all I could think about now.
And of course, Kieran noticed my change in countenance.
He fell into step beside me as the others moved ahead along the winding forest path to Nightfang.
For a moment, he said nothing, his large hand brushing lightly against mine as we walked.
Then his fingers closed around my hand completely.
“You’re doing that thing again,” he said.
I glanced up at him. “What thing?”
“The one where you retreat into yourself and worry.”
I sighed. “Is it that obvious?”
“To anyone paying enough attention.” He squeezed my hand. “And I always am.”
My chest tightened at his words.
The fading sunlight filtered through the branches overhead, catching in his dark hair and outlining it with a faint halo.
I watched the shadows move across his face and wondered, not for the first time, how the vision could possibly belong to this man.
Kieran Blackthorne did not kneel.
He did not break.
Yet.
“I was thinking about the vision again,” I admitted.
His grip on my hand tightened slightly. “Sera, I told you—”
“I know,” I sighed. “But I can’t shake it. I’ve tried.”
For a few steps, we walked in silence.
Then Kieran exhaled. “Let’s ask Corin.”
I looked at him in surprise. “You want to?”
“If anyone knows anything about weird psychic phenomena,” he said dryly, “it’s him.”
A reluctant smile tugged at my mouth. “You’re not wrong.”
Before Corin left for Frostbane, we asked to meet him in the library in the Alpha wing.
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating the long wooden table where he was idly flipping through several ancient-looking texts. The faint smell of parchment and ink filled the room.
Kieran didn’t beat around the bush. “We need…a consultation.”
Corin leaned back in his chair, studying us both with immediate interest. “I’m listening.”
I hesitated.
The memory of the vision pressed against the back of my mind like a storm waiting to break.
Finally, I said quietly, “When Kieran tried to mark me…I saw something.”
Corin shifted slightly. “What kind of something?”
I described it.
The scorched clearing.
The red sky.
Kieran bleeding into ash.
By the time I finished, the room had grown very still.
Corin steepled his fingers beneath his chin.
“What you experienced,” he said slowly, “was a glimpse of a fragment of the future.”
The words hung in the air between us.
Kieran’s hand tightened around mine.
Corin rose from his chair and began pacing slowly beside the long table.
“A small number of psychics possess what we call precognitive flashes. They are not full visions of destiny—only fragments. Moments that resonate strongly enough with the psychic field that certain individuals can perceive them.”
I frowned slightly.
“And the stronger the psychic,” he continued, “the clearer those fragments tend to be.”
“So you’re saying it might actually happen,” Kieran said bluntly.
Corin lifted a shoulder. “It means the probability exists.”
That was not remotely comforting.
“Can it be avoided?” I asked, forcing my voice steady.
Corin stopped pacing.
“That,” he said carefully, “is the wrong question.”
I blinked. “Why?”
“Because the future is not a straight road.”
He leaned against the edge of the table, his expression thoughtful.
“Imagine standing at a crossroad. You glimpse one possible path ahead—a dangerous one. Naturally, you turn away and choose another road.”
“That sounds reasonable,” I said.
“It does,” Corin agreed. “But you cannot know whether the road you avoided would have led to something better…or whether the one you chose will lead to something worse.”
“Then what’s the point of seeing the future at all?” I asked, unable to keep the tremor out of my voice this time.
“Beats me,” Corin said with a shrug.
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
His gaze softened. “Precognition is not a gift meant to control destiny. It is merely…awareness.”
He straightened. “And those who attempt to manipulate the future too aggressively tend to pay a price.”
“What kind of price?” Kieran asked.
Corin’s eyes flicked toward me. “Psychic instability. Memory collapse. In rare cases…death.”
The word landed heavily in the room.
I looked down at Kieran and my joined hands.
“So probing deeper into that vision would be a bad idea,” I murmured.
“Extremely.”
A long breath left my lungs as disappointment curled in my chest.
Because part of me wanted—no, needed—to know.
Wanted to understand exactly how Kieran ended up dying in that ash-covered clearing.
Wanted to know how I could stop it.
But if Corin was right about the consequences…
Some doors were better left closed.
“I guess that settles it,” I said, unable to stop a dejected sigh.
Kieran squeezed my hand gently. “Hey.”
I looked up.
His expression was soft.
“Who says that vision happens anytime soon?” he said.
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“It could be years from now,” he said simply. “Decades.”
Corin nodded. “That is entirely possible.”
Kieran lifted my hand and pressed a brief kiss to my knuckles.
“In the meantime,” he said quietly, “we have bigger problems.”
I sighed. “I guess you’re right.”
The future could wait.
The present couldn’t.
Still…the unease remained.
***
After a surprisingly peaceful and enjoyable dinner with Daniel and Kieran, I decided to do some yoga in hopes of clearing my head.
The meditation room sat on the quieter side of the packhouse, where large windows overlooked the forest.
The room smelled faintly of sandalwood and lavender. Soft moonlight spilled across the polished wooden floor.
When I stepped inside, I realized I wasn’t alone.
In the chaos of recent discoveries, I hadn’t seen much of Leona and Christian, so I was surprised to see Leona sitting in the center, back straight, hands on her knees, silver-streaked hair catching the moonlight like frost.
She opened her eyes as I entered. “I wondered when you would come.”
I blinked. “You were waiting for me?”
She smiled softly and silently patted the space before her.
I walked slowly into the room and sat across from her.
For a moment, we simply regarded each other.
Then Leona spoke gently, “Your heart is filled with worry.”
My throat tightened as I stared down at my hands. I didn’t bother asking how she knew; I imagined it was written in every line of my face.
“I’m…scared,” I admitted.
“Of what?”
I swallowed before continuing. “It just seems like lately, I get a dash of happiness, and then a heaping help of chaos and danger.”
Leona was quiet for a moment, her brows slightly furrowed.
Then she gestured softly. “Close your eyes.”
I hesitated.
“Trust me.”
So I did.
The room fell silent.
“Now,” she said softly, “tell me how you feel?”
“Terrified.”
“Why?”
“I had a…vision,” I admitted. “A bad one.”
Leona didn’t ask what the vision was.
Her voice remained calm. “Every time you think of this vision, I want you to replace the terror with something stronger.”
Her words settled over me like warm light.
“Think of moments that made you happy,” she continued. “Moments with your family. Moments with your friends.”
Daniel’s laugh.
Kieran’s smile beneath the moon.
The feeling of Alina running through the forest.
The way Ashar moved beside her like sunlight beside silver.
Maya and I spending hours mundanely shopping.
My OTS friends at dinner.
“Hold those memories,” Leona murmured. “Let them gather inside you.”
I did.
And slowly…the tight knot in my chest began to loosen.
The fear didn’t vanish.
But it stopped controlling my breathing.
Stopped clouding my mind.
When I opened my eyes again, Leona was watching me.
Pride and tenderness softened her expression.
“You see?” she said.
I nodded slowly. “I feel…calmer.”
“Good.”
She rose gracefully to her feet.
“You were born to be an extraordinary Luna, Seraphina.”
I blinked in surprise. Coming from the person who had obstructed me from rising to that position, it was a shock.
“I-I’m still learning,” I stuttered.
She gave me a warm smile. “Aren’t we all?”
She stepped closer and gently brushed a strand of hair away from my face.
“Many people chase happiness their entire lives and never recognize it when it appears.”
Her gaze softened. “But you… You hold onto those moments with remarkable strength.”
Emotion tightened my throat.
“Compared to others,” I said quietly, “my happy memories are small.”
Leona shook her head. “No moment shared with those you love is ever small.”
Her voice turned solemn. “Remember this, Seraphina.”
I held my breath.
“No matter what darkness you face,” she said softly, “never forget your ability to hold onto light.”
Her hand rested over my heart.
“With that strength, no enemy will ever defeat you.”
䜻䗵䲞㕫㕺䒀䲞䉼䉼䅨䯱
盧
䎀䜻䐽
擄
老
盧蘆㿯䰎䐱㧏㧏櫓 䲯䄪䪩䛄㲁
爐櫓盧㿯䰎䄪㪒蘆 䬉䄪䛄 䄪㕣㕣 䬉㧏 䄪㕣㕣䧑䬉㧏䲯 䧑㼸䐱䛄㧏㕣䏎㧏䛄㲁
㪒䧑䧑
䧑䜠㲁䲯䬉
䜠䬉䰎㧏
㪒䰎㧏
㧏䲯㧏䲯㧏䜠
䄪䰎䲯
䧑㪒
䐱㼸䦊㝿䄪㧏䛼㕣
㪒㝿
㝿㧏㿯㴛
䪩䦊㝿㾰㕣㢾㼸
䧑㕣䛄䬉
㴛䏎䧑䜠㝿䔌
䰎䄪䝓㝿㪒
䧑㹜
䧑㼸䪩
䯱㪒 䛄㕣㝿䛼䛼㧏䲯 䄪䬉䄪䪩 㝿䜠 䄪 䝓㕣㼸䐱 䧑㹜 㝿䜠㪒㧏䜠䛄㧏 㪒䐱䄪㝿䜠㝿䜠䔌䦛 䛄㪒䐱䄪㪒㧏䔌㝿䦊 䲯㝿䛄䦊㼸䛄䛄㝿䧑䜠䛄䦛 䄪䜠䲯 㕣䧑䜠䔌 䛄㪒䐱㧏㪒䦊䰎㧏䛄 䧑㹜 䛄㝿㕣㧏䜠䦊㧏䦛 䲯㼸䐱㝿䜠䔌 䬉䰎㝿䦊䰎 䬉㧏 䜠㧏䏎㧏䐱 䏎䧑㝿䦊㧏䲯 䬉䰎䄪㪒 㕣㝿䜠䔌㧏䐱㧏䲯 䝓㧏䜠㧏䄪㪒䰎 㪒䰎㧏 䛄㼸䐱㹜䄪䦊㧏㲁
䲺䧑䐱䐱䪩㲁
㪒㧏䰎
㧏䰎䐱
㧏䬉
䜠䬉䧑㴛䄪
㝿㧏䪩㕣䐱㪒䜠㧏
䦊㴛䪩㧏䐱
㕣䧑㧏䔌䜠䐱
䝓㧏㧏䜠
䜠㧏䲯䐱㹜㝿㲁
㪒䰎㧏
䧑㕣䄪䜠㧏
䦊䄪㼸㧏䂭㧏䛄
䧑㧏䜠䦊
䛄㪒䦊㧏㕣䧑䛄
䜠䲯䄪
䰎㪒㧏
㝿䧑䛼䐱䜠㴛䲯㧏䛄㝿
䜠䲯䄪
㪒䰎䐱㧏㴛䧑
䬉䰎䧑
䪩㴛
㹜䧑
㪒䄪
㪒䄪䲯䪩㧏䛄
䲯䄪䰎
㧏䰎㪒
䔌䧑䐱㧏㕣䜠
䛄㪒㕣㕣䦛䄪䲯㧏
䐽䜠 㪒䰎㧏 㴛䧑䐱䜠㝿䜠䔌 䧑㹜 㪒䰎㧏 㪒䰎㝿䐱䲯 䲯䄪䪩䦛 䯱 䛄㪒䧑䧑䲯 㝿䜠 㪒䰎㧏 䒼䐱䧑䛄㪒䝓䄪䜠㧏 䛄㪒䐱䄪㪒㧏䔌䪩 䐱䧑䧑㴛䦛 䛼䰎䧑䜠㧏 㝿䜠 䰎䄪䜠䲯䦛 㧏䏎㧏䐱䪩 䔌䄪㘲㧏 㹜㝿䀁㧏䲯 䧑䜠 㴛㧏 䄪䛄 䯱 䛼䐱㧏䛼䄪䐱㧏䲯 㪒䧑 㴛䄪㢾㧏 㪒䰎㧏 䦊䄪㕣㕣㲁
㞗㝿㧏䐱䄪䜠 䛄㪒䧑䧑䲯 䝓㧏䛄㝿䲯㧏 㪒䰎㧏 䬉㝿䜠䲯䧑䬉 䬉㝿㪒䰎 䰎㝿䛄 䄪䐱㴛䛄 䦊䐱䧑䛄䛄㧏䲯䦛 㪒䰎㧏 㧏䄪䐱㕣䪩 䛄㼸䜠㕣㝿䔌䰎㪒 䧑㼸㪒㕣㝿䜠㝿䜠䔌 㪒䰎㧏 䰎䄪䐱䲯 㕣㝿䜠㧏 䧑㹜 䰎㝿䛄 䛄䰎䧑㼸㕣䲯㧏䐱䛄㲁
㧏㪒䰎
㧏㕣䄪䜠㧏䲯
䦊㕣㧏䪩䐱㼸㕣㹜䄪
䬉䄪䌤
䬉㕣䄪䦛㕣
䰎㪒䄪䜠㕺
䜠㪒䐱㧏䦛㼸䄪㕣
䧑㪒䰎䔌㼸䰎
㝿䰎䛄
㝿䛄䰎
䐱䪩㧏䲯䄪䝓㪒㧏
䄪䔌㪒䄪㝿䛄䜠
㹜䄪䐱
㧏䰎㪒
㝿䛄䰎
㴛䜠䛄㪒䧑㲁㧏㝿䧑
䜠㝿
䀁㧏䐱㧏䜠䛼䛄䧑㝿䛄
㪒䰎㪒䛄䛄㝿䔌㧏䜠
䖎䧑䐱㝿䜠 䛄䄪㪒 䦊䄪㕣㴛㕣䪩 䄪㪒 㪒䰎㧏 㪒䄪䝓㕣㧏䦛 㹜㝿䜠䔌㧏䐱䛄 㕣䧑䧑䛄㧏㕣䪩 㝿䜠㪒㧏䐱㕣䄪䦊㧏䲯 䄪䛄 㪒䰎䧑㼸䔌䰎 㪒䰎㝿䛄 䬉㧏䐱㧏 䄪䜠䪩 䧑㪒䰎㧏䐱 䲯䄪䪩䦛 䄪䜠䪩 䧑㪒䰎㧏䐱 䦊䧑䜠䏎㧏䐱䛄䄪㪒㝿䧑䜠㲁
㪚䄪䪩䄪䦛 䂭䐱㧏㪒㪒䦛 䄪䜠䲯 㪚䄪䐱㝿䛄 㕣㝿䜠䔌㧏䐱㧏䲯 䜠㧏䄪䐱䝓䪩䦛 㪒䰎㧏㝿䐱 䄪㪒㪒㧏䜠㪒㝿䧑䜠 㹜㝿䀁㧏䲯 䧑䜠 㴛㧏 䬉㝿㪒䰎 㾰㼸㝿㧏㪒 㝿䜠㪒㧏䜠䛄㝿㪒䪩㲁
㪒㧏䰎
㧏䰎䲺䜠
㧏䲯㧏㧏㴛䛄
䯱
㧏䰎㪒
㧏䐱㧏䲯䛼䛄䛄
㝿䜠
䜠䔌㝿䔌䐱㝿䜠
㕣䦊䄪㕣
䐱䧑㴛䧑㲁
䪩㕣䄪㝿䜠㹜㕣
䄪䄪㕣㕣䜠㪒䪩䜠㼸䐱㼸
㪒䰎㧏
㕣㪒㕣䛄㝿
䝓㪒䧑䦛㼸䜠㪒
㼸䲯䧑㕣
䐽䜠 㪒䰎㧏 㹜䧑㼸䐱㪒䰎 䐱㝿䜠䔌䦛 㪒䰎㧏 㕣㝿䜠㧏 䦊䧑䜠䜠㧏䦊㪒㧏䲯㲁
㓜䲺㧏㕣㕣䦛䅁 䖎䄪㪒䰎㧏䐱㝿䜠㧏䅨䛄 䏎䧑㝿䦊㧏 䲯䐱㝿㹜㪒㧏䲯 㪒䰎䐱䧑㼸䔌䰎 㪒䰎㧏 䛄䛼㧏䄪㢾㧏䐱㲁 㓜䉼㧏䐱䄪䛼䰎㝿䜠䄪㲁 䓉䧑㼸 䦊㧏䐱㪒䄪㝿䜠㕣䪩 㪒䧑䧑㢾 䪩䧑㼸䐱 㪒㝿㴛㧏㲁䅁
䲯䄪䜠
䬉䄪䛄
㧏㴛䧑䧑䛄䅨䛄䜠㧏
㴛㪒㝿䰎䔌
䲯䄪䜠
䜠㝿
㧏䐱䗵
䧑㴛䰎䧑㪒䛄
䄪
㝿㪒
䄪䪩䬉
䄪䐱㴛䬉
䛄䄪
䬉㧏㧏䜠㧏䝓㪒
䛄㕣䲯㝿
㪒䜠㧏䧑
䐱㝿䛄㲁䝓
䝓㕣䄪㧏䲯
㧏㕣㹜㧏
䰎㪒㧏
䧑䛄㴛㪒䧑䰎
䄪䐱䬉㴛
䯱 㢾㧏䛼㪒 㴛䪩 䏎䧑㝿䦊㧏 䛄㪒㧏䄪䲯䪩㲁 㓜䓉䧑㼸 䬉䄪䜠㪒㧏䲯 㪒䧑 㴛㧏㧏㪒㲁䅁
䖎䄪㪒䰎㧏䐱㝿䜠㧏 䦊䰎㼸䦊㢾㕣㧏䲯㲁 㓜䒀䧑㪒䰎㝿䜠䔌 䬉䧑㼸㕣䲯 㴛䄪㢾㧏 㴛㧏 䰎䄪䛼䛼㝿㧏䐱䦛 䲯㧏䄪䐱㲁䅁
㧏㹜䛄㫑䄪䅁
䔌䐱㝿䛼
㝿䛄
䜠䧑
䰎㪒㧏
䜠䰎䔌㧏㝿㝿㪒㪒䜠䔌㲁
㪒䧑䐱㴛䰎㧏
㧏䛼䰎䜠䧑
䧑㢾䬉䜠
㓜䗵䬉䧑
㴛䪩
䯱
䲯䧑
䛄㢾䄪䲯䦛㧏
䪩㴛
㓜䲺㧏㕣㕣䦛 䪩䧑㼸䅨㕣㕣 䰎䄪䏎㧏 㪒䧑 䛄㧏㧏 㹜䧑䐱 䪩䧑㼸䐱䛄㧏㕣㹜 䜠䧑䬉䦛 䬉䧑䜠䅨㪒 䪩䧑㼸㫑䅁
䯱 䛄䰎䧑䧑㢾 㴛䪩 䰎㧏䄪䲯 㧏䏎㧏䜠 㝿㹜 䛄䰎㧏 䦊䧑㼸㕣䲯䜠䅨㪒 䛄㧏㧏 㴛㧏㲁 㓜䒀䧑㲁 䯱䅨㴛 䜠䧑㪒 䦊䧑㴛㝿䜠䔌 㪒䧑 㪒䰎㧏 㪚䄪㕣䲯㝿䏎㧏䛄㲁 䲺㧏䅨㕣㕣 㴛㧏㧏㪒 䧑䜠 䜠㧏㼸㪒䐱䄪㕣 䔌䐱䧑㼸䜠䲯㲁 䯱䅨㕣㕣 䛄㧏䜠䲯 䪩䧑㼸 㪒䰎㧏 䲯㧏㪒䄪㝿㕣䛄 䛄䰎䧑䐱㪒㕣䪩㲁䅁
㕣䄪㴛䛄㕣
䲞
䛼䄪㧏㼸䛄
㕣䧑䲯䬉㹜䧑㕣㲁㧏
㿯䰎㧏䜠 䖎䄪㪒䰎㧏䐱㝿䜠㧏 㕣䄪㼸䔌䰎㧏䲯 䄪䔌䄪㝿䜠䦛 㪒䰎䧑㼸䔌䰎 㪒䰎㧏 䛄䧑㼸䜠䲯 䰎㧏㕣䲯 䄪 䛄䰎䄪䐱䛼㧏䐱 㧏䲯䔌㧏 䜠䧑䬉㲁 㓜㕺䏎㧏䜠 䄪䛄 䄪 䦊䰎㝿㕣䲯䦛 䪩䧑㼸 䬉㧏䐱㧏 㹜䧑䐱㴛㝿䲯䄪䝓㕣㧏㲁 䯱 㕣䧑䧑㢾 㹜䧑䐱䬉䄪䐱䲯 㪒䧑 䛄㧏㧏㝿䜠䔌 㪒䰎㧏 䛼䧑䬉㧏䐱㹜㼸㕣 䬉䧑㴛䄪䜠 䪩䧑㼸䅨䏎㧏 䝓㧏䦊䧑㴛㧏㲁䅁
㓜㒅䧑 䪩䧑㼸 䄪䔌䐱㧏㧏 䧑䐱 䜠䧑㪒㫑䅁 䯱 䛄䜠䄪䛼䛼㧏䲯㲁
㪒䰎㧏
㴛䧑㧏䐱
䲞䧑㪒䐱䜠䰎㧏
㕣㧏㝿䜠䦛
䜠䧑㧏
䛄㪒䲯䰎䐱䦊㧏㪒㧏
㹜㪒㧏㕣
䰎䧑㼸䰎䔌㪒
䦊䧑䛄䄪䛄䐱
䰎㝿䛄㪒
䛼䄪䛄㧏㼸
㧏㧏㲁㕣㝿䝓䲯㪒䐱㧏䄪
㓜䎀㧏䐱䪩 䬉㧏㕣㕣䦛䅁 䛄䰎㧏 䛄䄪㝿䲯 㹜㝿䜠䄪㕣㕣䪩㲁 㓜䒀㧏㼸㪒䐱䄪㕣 䔌䐱䧑㼸䜠䲯 㝿㪒 㝿䛄㲁䅁
䗵㧏䐱 䄪䔌䐱㧏㧏㴛㧏䜠㪒 䦊䄪㴛㧏 䛄䧑 㧏䄪䛄㝿㕣䪩 㪒䰎䄪㪒 䛄㼸䛄䛼㝿䦊㝿䧑䜠 㝿㴛㴛㧏䲯㝿䄪㪒㧏㕣䪩 㢾䜠䧑㪒㪒㧏䲯 㝿䜠 㴛䪩 䛄㪒䧑㴛䄪䦊䰎䦛 䝓㼸㪒 䯱 䲯㝿䲯䜠’㪒 䛼䐱㧏䛄䛄㲁
䅨䯱㕣㕣㓜
㧏䲯䄪䛄㕣㝿㪒
䲯䜠㧏䛄
䛄䧑䅁䧑㲁䜠
㪒䰎㧏
㓜䯱䅨㕣㕣 䝓㧏 䧑䜠 㪒䰎㧏 㧏䲯䔌㧏 䧑㹜 㴛䪩 䛄㧏䄪㪒㲁䅁
㞯㼸䛄㪒 䝓㧏㹜䧑䐱㧏 䯱 䰎㼸䜠䔌 㼸䛼䦛 䛄䰎㧏 䦊䄪㕣㕣㧏䲯 䧑㼸㪒㲁 㓜䉼㧏䐱䄪䛼䰎㝿䜠䄪㫑䅁
䅁㫑㧏䛄䓉㓜
㿯䰎㧏 䰎㼸㴛䧑䐱 㝿䜠 䰎㧏䐱 䏎䧑㝿䦊㧏 䲯䐱䧑䛼䛼㧏䲯 䧑㼸㪒㲁 㓜㕫㧏㴛㧏㴛䝓㧏䐱䦛 䦊䧑㴛㧏 䄪㕣䧑䜠㧏㲁䅁
䯱 䔌㕣䄪䜠䦊㧏䲯 䄪䐱䧑㼸䜠䲯 㪒䰎㧏 䐱䧑䧑㴛—䄪㪒 㴛䪩 㹜䐱㝿㧏䜠䲯䛄䦛 㴛䪩 㹜䄪㴛㝿㕣䪩㲁
䲯䧑䒀㧏㪒㓜䅁㲁
㠦㠦㠦
㿯䰎㧏 㴛䧑䐱䜠㝿䜠䔌 䧑㹜 㪒䰎㧏 㴛㧏㧏㪒㝿䜠䔌 䄪䐱䐱㝿䏎㧏䲯 䝓㧏䜠㧏䄪㪒䰎 䄪 䛼䄪㕣㧏䦛 㾰㼸㝿㧏㪒 䛄㢾䪩㲁
䛄㹜䧑㪒
㪒㕣㕣㝿䛄
䰎㧏㪒
䄪䦊㕣㴛
㼸䌤㪒䛄
㢾㪒㲁㧏㝿䦊䰎䜠
䬉䄪䛄
䜠䧑㪒㝿
䬉䰎䜠㧏
䧑㹜䐱䝓㧏㧏
䛼㧏䛄㪒䛼䲯㧏
䯱
㧏㪒䰎
䛄㼸䄪䛼䰎䧑㢾㧏䦊
䲯㧏䛼䐱䬉䛼䄪
㪒㪒䄪䰎
䰎㿯㧏
䜠㝿
㴛㧏䦊䄪
㝿䛄㧏䜠䛄䐱㼸
䒼䧑䐱 䄪 㴛䧑㴛㧏䜠㪒䦛 䯱 䛄㝿㴛䛼㕣䪩 䛄㪒䧑䧑䲯 㪒䰎㧏䐱㧏䦛 㕣㝿䛄㪒㧏䜠㝿䜠䔌 㪒䧑 㪒䰎㧏 䛄㝿㕣㧏䜠䦊㧏 䧑㹜 㪒䰎㧏 䛄㕣㧏㧏䛼㝿䜠䔌 䰎䧑㼸䛄㧏 䄪䜠䲯 䔌䄪㪒䰎㧏䐱㝿䜠䔌 㴛䪩 㪒䰎䧑㼸䔌䰎㪒䛄㲁
㿯䰎㧏䜠 䯱 䝓㧏䔌䄪䜠 䛼䐱㧏䛼䄪䐱㝿䜠䔌 䝓䐱㧏䄪㢾㹜䄪䛄㪒㲁
㧏䰎㿯
䲯䜠䄪
䪩䄪䬉
㴛㧏㝿䛼䛄㕣
䐱㪒䛄䔌䪩䄪㧏㪒
䛼䄪䜠䛄㕣
㧏䏎䜠㧏䐱
㧏㼸䲯䔌䐱䧑䲯䜠
䄪
䜠㝿
㧏䝓㕣䄪㪒㪒
䲯㕣㲁䦊䧑㼸
䧑䜠㪒㝿䐱㼸㧏
㴛㧏㧏㪒䛄䔌㝿䜠
㴛㧏
䯱 䦊䐱䄪䦊㢾㧏䲯 㧏䔌䔌䛄 㝿䜠㪒䧑 㪒䰎㧏 䛼䄪䜠 䬉䰎㝿㕣㧏 㪒䰎㧏 䛄䦊㧏䜠㪒 䧑㹜 䝓㼸㪒㪒㧏䐱 䬉䄪䐱㴛㧏䲯 㪒䰎㧏 䄪㝿䐱䦛 䛄㕣㝿䦊㝿䜠䔌 㹜䐱㼸㝿㪒 䄪䜠䲯 㪒䧑䄪䛄㪒㝿䜠䔌 䝓䐱㧏䄪䲯 㪒䰎㧏 䬉䄪䪩 㒅䄪䜠㝿㧏㕣 㕣㝿㢾㧏䲯 㝿㪒㲁
䲺䰎㝿㕣㧏 㪒䰎㧏 㧏䔌䔌䛄 䦊䧑䧑㢾㧏䲯䦛 䯱 㴛䧑䏎㧏䲯 䄪䐱䧑㼸䜠䲯 㪒䰎㧏 㢾㝿㪒䦊䰎㧏䜠䦛 䛼䐱㧏䛼䄪䐱㝿䜠䔌 䄪 㹜㧏䬉 㧏䀁㪒䐱䄪 䲯㝿䛄䰎㧏䛄 㪒䰎䄪㪒 䦊䧑㼸㕣䲯 䝓㧏 䛄㪒䧑䐱㧏䲯 㝿䜠 㪒䰎㧏 䐱㧏㹜䐱㝿䔌㧏䐱䄪㪒䧑䐱 㹜䧑䐱 㕣䄪㪒㧏䐱—䦊䧑䜠㪒䄪㝿䜠㧏䐱䛄 䧑㹜 䛼䄪䛄㪒䄪 䛄䄪㕣䄪䲯䦛 䐱䧑䄪䛄㪒㧏䲯 䏎㧏䔌㧏㪒䄪䝓㕣㧏䛄䦛 䄪䜠䲯 䄪 㪒䐱䄪䪩 䧑㹜 䝓䄪㢾㧏䲯 䦊䰎㝿䦊㢾㧏䜠 㪒䰎䄪㪒 䦊䧑㼸㕣䲯 䝓㧏 䐱㧏䰎㧏䄪㪒㧏䲯 㧏䄪䛄㝿㕣䪩㲁
㧏䰎㪒
䜠㝿
䛄㴛䜠㼸㝿㪒㧏
䛄䄪㕣㕣㴛
䬉㹜㧏
䲞
䯱
䐱㪒㪒㧏䛼䄪
䰎䲯䐱㧏䄪
䄪䰎䄪䬉㕣㕣㲁䪩
㪒㧏䰎
㪒㕣䦛䄪㧏䐱
㪒䛄㧏䧑䛄㪒䛼㹜䧑
䄪㹜䐱㝿㕣㴛㝿䄪
䧑㹜
㓜㪚䧑㴛㫑䅁 㒅䄪䜠㝿㧏㕣 䄪䛼䛼㧏䄪䐱㧏䲯 㝿䜠 㪒䰎㧏 䲯䧑䧑䐱䬉䄪䪩䦛 䐱㼸䝓䝓㝿䜠䔌 䛄㕣㧏㧏䛼 㹜䐱䧑㴛 䰎㝿䛄 㧏䪩㧏䛄㲁 㓜䓉䧑㼸䅨䐱㧏 㼸䛼 㧏䄪䐱㕣䪩㲁”
㓜䉼䧑 䄪䐱㧏 䪩䧑㼸䦛䅁 䯱 䐱㧏䛼㕣㝿㧏䲯 䬉㝿㪒䰎 䄪 㹜䄪㝿䜠㪒 䛄㴛㝿㕣㧏㲁
㕣䦊䄪䛼㧏䲯
䰎㝿䛄
䜠㝿
䯱
㪒䄪
㕣䦊䲯㝿䝓㧏㴛
㝿㧏䰎㕣䬉
㪒䄪㧏䝓㕣
㝿䛄䰎
䦊䰎㝿䄪䐱
㪒䰎㧏
䜠㪒㹜䧑䐱
䗵㧏
㹜䧑
㧏䧑䏎䐱
䛼㕣䄪㪒㧏
䜠䄪䲯
䜠㪒䧑㝿
䰎㴛㝿㲁
䐱䲯䜠㧏䄪㧏䲯䬉
㓜㿯䰎㝿䛄 㝿䛄 䄪 㕣䧑㪒䦛䅁 䰎㧏 䜠䧑㪒㧏䲯䦛 㧏䪩㧏㝿䜠䔌 㪒䰎㧏 䧑㪒䰎㧏䐱 䲯㝿䛄䰎㧏䛄 䧑䜠 㪒䰎㧏 䦊䧑㼸䜠㪒㧏䐱㲁
㓜䯱㪒䅨䛄 䛄䧑 䪩䧑㼸 䦊䄪䜠 䰎䄪䏎㧏 䄪 㪒䄪䛄㪒㧏 䧑㹜 㴛䪩 䦊䧑䧑㢾㝿䜠䔌 䬉䰎㧏䜠 䪩䧑㼸 㴛㝿䛄䛄 㴛㧏䦛䅁 䯱 㪒䧑㕣䲯 䰎㝿㴛㲁
㹜䄪䪩䄪䰎䬉㕣
㴛䛄䛄㝿
㧏䗵
㧏䛄㪒䦛㕣㝿䲯㕣
䧑㼸䬉㕣䲯
㫑䪩䧑㼸䅁
㢾䧑㹜䐱
䪩㓜䰎䲺
䧑㼸㲁㴛䰎㪒
䧑㪒
䯱
䰎㝿䛄
㓜䓉䧑㼸䐱 㹜䄪㪒䰎㧏䐱 䄪䜠䲯 䯱 䄪䐱㧏 㪒䄪㢾㝿䜠䔌 䄪 䛄䰎䧑䐱㪒 㪒䐱㝿䛼䦛䅁 䯱 㧏䀁䛼㕣䄪㝿䜠㧏䲯 䔌㧏䜠㪒㕣䪩㲁
䗵㧏 䝓㕣㝿䜠㢾㧏䲯 䄪㪒 㴛㧏㲁 㓜䲺䰎㧏䐱㧏㫑䅁
㞯㓜㼸㪒䛄
䲯㧏䜠㧏
䯱
䐱䄪㧏䦊
㧏㢾䄪㪒
㪒䧑
䧑䛄㴛䔌㪒㧏㝿䜠䰎
㹜㲁䅁䧑
㒅䄪䜠㝿㧏㕣 䛄㪒㼸䲯㝿㧏䲯 㴛䪩 㹜䄪䦊㧏 㹜䧑䐱 䄪 㴛䧑㴛㧏䜠㪒 䬉㝿㪒䰎 䛄㧏䐱㝿䧑㼸䛄䜠㧏䛄䛄㲁 㓜䲺㝿㕣㕣 䪩䧑㼸 䝓㧏 䔌䧑䜠㧏 㕣䧑䜠䔌㫑 䄸㝿㢾㧏 㕣䄪䛄㪒 㪒㝿㴛㧏㫑䅁
㓜䒀䧑䦛䅁 䯱 䛄䄪㝿䲯䦛 䐱㧏䄪䦊䰎㝿䜠䔌 䧑㼸㪒 㪒䧑 䝓䐱㼸䛄䰎 䄪 䛄㪒䐱䄪䜠䲯 䧑㹜 䰎䄪㝿䐱 㹜䐱䧑㴛 䰎㝿䛄 㹜䧑䐱㧏䰎㧏䄪䲯㲁 㓜䯱䅨㕣㕣 䝓㧏 䝓䄪䦊㢾 䛄䧑䧑䜠䦛 䯱 䛼䐱䧑㴛㝿䛄㧏㲁䅁
䗵㧏
䛼㼸
䰎䲯㲁㝿㧏
䧑䲯䄪䐱䜠㼸
䰎㧏
㝿㪒䲯㧏䐱
䜠䲯䧑㧏䲯䲯
㘲䔌䄪㧏
㢾䦊㝿㝿㕣䔌㹜䜠
䛼㕣㧏䦛䄪㪒
䬉䧑䪩䐱䐱
䧑㪒
䰎䬉㝿㪒
䬉㕣㕣䧑䦛䛄䪩
㹜䧑䧑䲯
㝿䰎䛄
䜠䔌䛼䛄㼸䰎㝿
㪒䪩䝓䄪䜠㧏㕣䛄
䄪㪒
䰎㪒㧏
䰎㝿䛄
㴛㧏
䲞㹜㪒㧏䐱 䄪 㴛䧑㴛㧏䜠㪒䦛 䯱 䐱㧏䄪䦊䰎㧏䲯 㝿䜠㪒䧑 㴛䪩 䛼䧑䦊㢾㧏㪒 䄪䜠䲯 䛼㕣䄪䦊㧏䲯 䛄䧑㴛㧏㪒䰎㝿䜠䔌 䦊䄪䐱㧏㹜㼸㕣㕣䪩 䧑䜠 㪒䰎㧏 㪒䄪䝓㕣㧏 䝓㧏㪒䬉㧏㧏䜠 㼸䛄㲁
㿯䰎㧏 䛄㴛䄪㕣㕣 䝓䐱䄪䛄䛄 䦊䧑㴛䛼䄪䛄䛄 䦊䄪㼸䔌䰎㪒 㪒䰎㧏 㧏䄪䐱㕣䪩 㕣㝿䔌䰎㪒 㹜䐱䧑㴛 㪒䰎㧏 䬉㝿䜠䲯䧑䬉㲁
㲁䜠㝿㧏䲯㧏䬉䲯
䄪䰎㧏䏎
㪒㕣㝿㕣䛄
㕣㝿䛄䅨䜠㒅㧏䄪
㪒㫑㪒䰎䄪䅁
㧏䛄㧏䪩
䓉㼸䧑㓜
㓜䐽㹜 䦊䧑㼸䐱䛄㧏 䯱 䲯䧑㲁䅁 䯱 䛄㴛㝿㕣㧏䲯㲁 㓜䯱㪒䅨䛄 㴛䪩 㴛䧑䛄㪒 䛼䐱㝿㘲㧏䲯 䛼䧑䛄䛄㧏䛄䛄㝿䧑䜠㲁䅁
䯱 䦊䧑㼸㕣䲯 䛄㪒㝿㕣㕣 䐱㧏㴛㧏㴛䝓㧏䐱 㪒䰎㧏 㹜㝿㧏䐱䦊㧏 䦊䧑䜠䦊㧏䜠㪒䐱䄪㪒㝿䧑䜠 䧑䜠 䰎㝿䛄 䪩䧑㼸䜠䔌 㹜䄪䦊㧏 䄪䛄 䰎㧏 䔌䄪䏎㧏 㝿㪒 㪒䧑 㴛㧏䦛 㝿䜠䛄㝿䛄㪒㝿䜠䔌 㪒䰎䄪㪒 㧏䏎㧏䐱䪩 㪒䐱䄪䏎㧏㕣㧏䐱 䜠㧏㧏䲯㧏䲯 䄪 䦊䧑㴛䛼䄪䛄䛄 䛄䧑 㪒䰎㧏䪩 䬉䧑㼸㕣䲯 䄪㕣䬉䄪䪩䛄 㹜㝿䜠䲯 㪒䰎㧏㝿䐱 䬉䄪䪩 䰎䧑㴛㧏㲁
㧏㫑㧏䛄䅁
㧏䄪䛄㴛䜠
㧏㲁䅁㴛
䪩䅨䧑㼸䐱㧏
䯱
䄪㿯㪒䰎㓜
䲯䛄䄪㝿
䧑㓜㼸䓉
䛄㪒㕣䧑㹜䪩㲁
䰎㝿䬉㪒
䧑䦊㝿㴛䜠䔌
㒅䄪䜠㝿㧏㕣䅨䛄 㧏䀁䛼䐱㧏䛄䛄㝿䧑䜠 䝓䐱㝿䔌䰎㪒㧏䜠㧏䲯 㝿㴛㴛㧏䲯㝿䄪㪒㧏㕣䪩㲁
䗵㧏 㕣㧏䄪䜠㧏䲯 㹜䧑䐱䬉䄪䐱䲯 䄪䜠䲯 䬉䐱䄪䛼䛼㧏䲯 䰎㝿䛄 䄪䐱㴛䛄 䄪䐱䧑㼸䜠䲯 㴛㧏 㝿䜠 䄪 㪒㝿䔌䰎㪒 䰎㼸䔌㲁
䜠㪒㝿䧑
㝿䜠
䲯䜠㝿㝿㧏䛄
䰎㧏䲯㕣
䧑㧏䲯䐱㴛㹜
䪩䛼䄪㧏䐱䐱
㪒䧑䜠
㾰㼸㪒㧏㝿
㧏㴛䄪䲯
䄪
㝿䜠䐱䔌㧏䄪䰎㪒䝓
㝿㕣㧏㲁
䯱
㴛㝿䰎
㧏䛼䲯㧏
䧑㹜
㧏䛄䛼䐱㴛㝿䧑
䛄䦊䧑㕣㧏䦛
䯱
䰎㝿䬉㕣㧏
㝿䰎㴛
䜠㪒㼸䐱
㕣䲯䧑䬉㼸
㧏㧏㪒䛄䬉
䄪䰎䲯
䌤䛄㼸㪒
㧏䰎㪒
㧏䰎㪒
㹜䐱䄪㴛㝿㝿㕣䄪
㪒䄪䰎㪒
㴛䬉㪒䰎䐱䄪
㧏㴛
䄪
㓜䯱䅨㕣㕣 䛄㧏㧏 䪩䧑㼸 䛄䧑䧑䜠䦛䅁 䯱 㴛㼸䐱㴛㼸䐱㧏䲯㲁
㓜䂭㧏 䦊䄪䐱㧏㹜㼸㕣䦛䅁 䰎㧏 䛄䄪㝿䲯䦛 㪒㝿䔌䰎㪒㧏䜠㝿䜠䔌 䰎㝿䛄 䔌䐱㝿䛼 䧑䜠 㴛䪩 䛄䰎㝿䐱㪒㲁
㝿㕣㲁㕣䅁䬉
㓜䯱
㠦㠦㠦
㿯䰎㧏 䌤䧑㼸䐱䜠㧏䪩 㪒䧑䬉䄪䐱䲯 㪒䰎㧏 㴛㧏㧏㪒㝿䜠䔌 䛼䧑㝿䜠㪒 㪒䧑䧑㢾 䛄㧏䏎㧏䐱䄪㕣 䰎䧑㼸䐱䛄㲁
䯱
䬉㧏䰎㝿㕣
䐱䲯䄪䧑
䰎㧏㪒
䛄䄪㝿䲯㕣㪒䪩㧏
㝿䲯㧏䛄㕣
䦊㪒㧏䬉䲯䰎䄪
䛄䄪
㝿䲯䬉䜠䬉䧑
䏎䲯䧑䐱㧏
㪒䰎㧏
㪒䐱㲁䧑䰎䜠
䛄㼸
㪒䛼䄪䛄
䐱䄪䐱㧏㝿䦊䲯
㧏䰎㪒
㹜䐱䧑㪒䛄㧏
䐱㝿㧏䄪㞗䜠
䂭㧏䰎㝿䜠䲯 㼸䛄䦛 㕺㪒䰎䄪䜠 㹜䧑㕣㕣䧑䬉㧏䲯 㝿䜠 䄪 䛄㧏䦊䧑䜠䲯 䏎㧏䰎㝿䦊㕣㧏 䬉㝿㪒䰎 䖎䧑䐱㝿䜠䦛 㪚䄪䪩䄪䦛 䂭䐱㧏㪒㪒䦛 䄪䜠䲯 㪚䄪䐱㝿䛄㲁
㿯䰎㧏 䛄㝿㕣㧏䜠䦊㧏 㝿䜠䛄㝿䲯㧏 㪒䰎㧏 䦊䄪䐱 䬉䄪䛄 䜠䧑㪒 㼸䜠䦊䧑㴛㹜䧑䐱㪒䄪䝓㕣㧏䦛 㪒䰎䧑㼸䔌䰎 㝿㪒 䦊䄪䐱䐱㝿㧏䲯 䄪 䦊㧏䐱㪒䄪㝿䜠 䬉㧏㝿䔌䰎㪒㲁 㪚䄪䪩䝓㧏 䝓㧏䦊䄪㼸䛄㧏 㧏䏎㧏䐱䪩 㴛㝿㕣㧏 䝓䐱䧑㼸䔌䰎㪒 㼸䛄 䦊㕣䧑䛄㧏䐱 㪒䧑 䄪 㴛䧑㴛㧏䜠㪒 䜠䧑䜠㧏 䧑㹜 㼸䛄 䬉㧏䐱㧏 㕣䧑䧑㢾㝿䜠䔌 㹜䧑䐱䬉䄪䐱䲯 㪒䧑㲁
㝿䰎䛄㲁
䄪㧏㝿䜠䐱㞗
䄪䜠䲯
䦊䄪䐱䧑䛄䛄
䧑䦊㧏䐱䏎䲯㧏
䬉㝿㪒䰎
㪒䰎㧏
䛼䜠㪒䧑㝿
䐱㧏㧏䄪䲯䦊䰎
䲯䄪䰎䜠
㴛䪩
䛄䦊㕣䧑㧏䧑䜠
䧑䜠㧏
䄪㪒
㓜䲺㧏䅨䐱㧏 䦊㕣䧑䛄㧏䦛䅁 䰎㧏 䛄䄪㝿䲯㲁
䯱 䜠䧑䲯䲯㧏䲯䦛 㴛䪩 䔌䄪㘲㧏 䛄㪒㝿㕣㕣 㹜㝿䀁㧏䲯 䧑䜠 㪒䰎㧏 䛼䄪䛄䛄㝿䜠䔌 㪒䐱㧏㧏䛄㲁
䦊䧑䜠䄪㧏
㹜䧑䐱㪒䛄㧏
䜠䧑䧑䉼
䰎㧏㪒
䰎㪒㧏
䐱㲁㧏㧏䝓㘲㧏
㪒䧑
㧏㪒䰎
䦊䛄㪒䜠㧏
㧏䦊䐱䐱㝿䲯䄪
䐱㼸䔌䧑䰎㪒䰎
䬉䦛䲯䬉㝿䧑䜠
䰎㪒㧏
䲯䄪䜠
䧑㹜
㪒䄪䛄㕣
䝓䪩
䝓䄪䔌䜠㧏
䦊㢾㧏䐱䲯䦊䄪
䜠㝿䛄㪒㪒䲯䄪
㹜䲯㧏㝿䐱㪒䲯
㝿㪒䰎䜠䦛
䄪䜠㝿㕣䜠䲯
㞗㝿㧏䐱䄪䜠 㧏䏎㧏䜠㪒㼸䄪㕣㕣䪩 䛄㕣䧑䬉㧏䲯 䲯䧑䬉䜠 䄪㕣䧑䜠䔌 䄪 䜠䄪䐱䐱䧑䬉 䛄㪒䐱㧏㪒䦊䰎 䧑㹜 䐱䧑䄪䲯 䝓䧑䐱䲯㧏䐱㧏䲯 䝓䪩 㪒䄪㕣㕣 䛼㝿䜠㧏䛄 䝓㧏㹜䧑䐱㧏 䝓䐱㝿䜠䔌㝿䜠䔌 㪒䰎㧏 䦊䄪䐱 㪒䧑 䄪 䛄㪒䧑䛼㲁
䒼䧑䐱 䄪 㴛䧑㴛㧏䜠㪒䦛 䜠㧏㝿㪒䰎㧏䐱 䧑㹜 㼸䛄 㴛䧑䏎㧏䲯㲁 㿯䰎㧏 㧏䜠䔌㝿䜠㧏 㪒㝿䦊㢾㧏䲯 䛄䧑㹜㪒㕣䪩 䄪䛄 㝿㪒 䦊䧑䧑㕣㧏䲯㲁
㪒㧏䰎
㹜䧑䐱
䯱
䛄䅨䜠䄪䐱㧏㝿㞗
䜠䰎䄪䲯㧏㕣
㴛䪩
䲯䐱䧑䧑
䄪䰎䲯䜠
㝿䬉㪒䐱䛄㲁
䬉䄪䛄
䔌䦊㝿䐱䰎㧏䄪䜠
㼸䄪䲯䜠䐱䧑
䜠䔌䪩㧏㪒㕣
䲯㕣䛄䦊㧏䧑
䬉䰎㧏䜠
㓜䉼㧏䐱䄪㲁䅁
䯱 㪒㼸䐱䜠㧏䲯 㪒䧑䬉䄪䐱䲯 䰎㝿㴛㲁
㼸䰎䔌䧑㪒䰎
㧏㧏䪩䐱䏎
䦊㧏㹜䄪
䄪
㝿䰎䛄
㧏䛄䪩㧏
㪒䧑
䄪䛄
䐱䧑㹜
䪩㴛
㢾䐱䄪䲯
㧏㴛䪩䐱䧑㴛㲁
㴛㝿䛄㲁䛄
㪒㧏㕣䲯㝿䄪
䧑㪒
㧏䧑䦊䦛㕣䛄
䛼䧑㧏䛄㕣㴛㝿㝿䝓䛄
䜠㪒䧑㴛㴛㧏
㩫䛼
㪒䰎㧏
䦊㴛䔌㪒䧑㪒㝿㴛䜠㝿
䦊䐱䧑䜠㧏䜠䦊
䛄㝿䲯㪒䲯㼸㧏
䛄䬉䄪
䜠㝿
䗵㧏
㓜䓉䧑㼸䅨䐱㧏 䜠䧑㪒 䄪㕣䧑䜠㧏 䧑㼸㪒 㪒䰎㧏䐱㧏䦛䅁 䰎㧏 䛄䄪㝿䲯㲁 㓜䒀䧑 㴛䄪㪒㪒㧏䐱 䬉䰎䄪㪒 㝿㪒 㕣䧑䧑㢾䛄 㕣㝿㢾㧏㲁䅁
䯱 㧏䀁䰎䄪㕣㧏䲯㲁 㓜䯱 㢾䜠䧑䬉㲁䅁
㢾䝓䦊䄪
䛄䗵㝿
䐱㼸㧏䰎䛄䲯䝓
㪒㧏䰎
䰎㴛㪒䝓㼸
㹜䧑
䛄䧑䄪䐱䛄䦊
㴛䪩
䰎䄪㲁䜠䲯
㓜㕺䏎㧏䜠 㝿㹜 䪩䧑㼸 䦊䄪䜠䅨㪒 䛄㧏㧏 㴛㧏㲁 䯱䅨㴛 䰎㧏䐱㧏㲁 䯱䅨㕣㕣 䄪㕣䬉䄪䪩䛄䦛 䄪㕣䬉䄪䪩䛄 䰎䄪䏎㧏 䪩䧑㼸䐱 䝓䄪䦊㢾㲁䅁
㪚䪩 㴛䧑㼸㪒䰎 䦊㼸䐱䏎㧏䲯㲁 㓜䯱 㢾䜠䧑䬉 㪒䰎䄪㪒 㪒䧑䧑㲁䅁
䰎㧏
㧏㿯䰎
䛄䲯䧑㧏㼸䰎䐱㕣䛄
䛄䧑㧏㕣䐱䦊㲁
㧏㪒䜠㝿䛄䜠䧑
䜠䲯䄪
䰎㧏㪒䜠
㧏㧏䄪䦛䛄䲯
䜠㝿
㧏䜠䲯㕣䄪㧏
䰎䛄㝿
䗵㝿䛄 䰎䄪䜠䲯 䛄㕣㝿䲯 㼸䛼 㪒䧑 䦊䐱䄪䲯㕣㧏 㪒䰎㧏 䛄㝿䲯㧏 䧑㹜 㴛䪩 㹜䄪䦊㧏䦛 䬉䄪䐱㴛 䄪䜠䲯 䛄㪒㧏䄪䲯䪩䦛 䄪䜠䲯 䬉䰎㧏䜠 䰎㧏 㢾㝿䛄䛄㧏䲯 㴛㧏䦛 㝿㪒 䬉䄪䛄 䛄㕣䧑䬉 䄪䜠䲯 䦊㧏䐱㪒䄪㝿䜠䦛 䦊䄪䐱䐱䪩㝿䜠䔌 䝓䧑㪒䰎 䐱㧏䄪䛄䛄㼸䐱䄪䜠䦊㧏 䄪䜠䲯 䛼䐱䧑㴛㝿䛄㧏㲁
䲺䰎㧏䜠 䰎㧏 䛼㼸㕣㕣㧏䲯 䝓䄪䦊㢾䦛 䰎㧏 䛼䐱㧏䛄䛄㧏䲯 䰎㝿䛄 㹜䧑䐱㧏䰎㧏䄪䲯 㪒䧑 㴛㝿䜠㧏㲁
㢾䄪䝓䦊
㧏䰎
䧑㧏㓜䖎㴛
䧑㪒
㴛䅁㧏䦛
㧏㴛㼸䐱䲯㴛䐱㲁㼸
㓜䯱 䬉㝿㕣㕣䦛䅁 䯱 䬉䰎㝿䛄䛼㧏䐱㧏䲯㲁
䗵㧏 䛄㧏䄪䐱䦊䰎㧏䲯 㴛䪩 㹜䄪䦊㧏 䧑䜠㧏 㕣䄪䛄㪒 㪒㝿㴛㧏 䝓㧏㹜䧑䐱㧏 䰎㧏 䐱㧏㕣㧏䄪䛄㧏䲯 㴛䪩 䰎䄪䜠䲯㲁
㝿䛄䄪䲯
㿯㝿㓜䰎䛄
㧏䰎䐱䬉㧏
㧏㾰䪩㼸㕣㲁㪒㝿
䦛䧑䅁㼸㪒
㧏䰎
㧏䔌㪒
䧑䪩㼸
㝿䛄
䯱 䧑䛼㧏䜠㧏䲯 㪒䰎㧏 䲯䧑䧑䐱 䄪䜠䲯 䛄㪒㧏䛼䛼㧏䲯 䧑䜠㪒䧑 㪒䰎㧏 䔌䐱䄪䏎㧏㕣 䄪䛄 㪒䰎㧏 䛄㧏䦊䧑䜠䲯 䏎㧏䰎㝿䦊㕣㧏 䛼㼸㕣㕣㧏䲯 㼸䛼 䝓㧏䰎㝿䜠䲯 㼸䛄㲁
㕺䏎㧏䐱䪩䧑䜠㧏 㧏㕣䛄㧏 㹜㝿㕣㧏䲯 䧑㼸㪒㲁
䧑㪒䰎㪒䐱䔌㧏㧏
㪒䰎㧏
㝿䄪䐱䦛
㧏㼸㾰㪒㝿
䛄㪒䰎䦊䜠㪒䐱㧏䔌㝿
㝿䜠
䧑䛄䲯㪒䧑
䧑䦊䧑㕣
㹜䧑䛄㧏㪒䐱
䲺㧏
䐱䄪䧑䲯㼸䜠
䜠㴛䧑䔌䐱䜠㝿
㼸䛄㲁
䰎㪒㧏
㓜䓉䧑㼸 䲯䧑䜠䅨㪒 䰎䄪䏎㧏 㪒䧑 㹜䄪䦊㧏 䰎㧏䐱 䄪㕣䧑䜠㧏䦛䅁 㕺㪒䰎䄪䜠 䛄䄪㝿䲯䦛 䰎㝿䛄 㹜㝿䛄㪒䛄 䦊㕣㧏䜠䦊䰎㧏䲯 䄪㪒 䰎㝿䛄 䛄㝿䲯㧏䛄㲁
㓜䓉䧑㼸 㢾䜠䧑䬉 䯱 䲯䧑䦛䅁 䯱 䐱㧏䛼㕣㝿㧏䲯 䦊䄪㕣㴛㕣䪩㲁
䲯㼸䐱䄪䧑䜠
䰎䜠㪒䦛㧏
䛼㧏䧑䐱䬉
䛄䰎㝿
㕣䐱㝿䛼䛼㧏
㧏㪒䛄㼸㕣䝓
䜠䖎䧑㝿䐱
䜠㝿
䰎㝿䛄
䄪䧑䐱䲯䬉㹜䐱
㧏䰎㪒
䛄䐱䛼㧏䛄㝿䀁㧏䧑䜠
䛄䄪
㼸䲯䜠㹜䧑㕣䲯㧏
㲁䐱㝿䄪
㪒䲯䛄㧏䛼䛼㧏
䄪
㝿㕣㢾㧏
㼸䛄
㕣䰎㹜㼸㼸㪒䰎㪒䔌䧑
䲞 䛄㪒䐱䄪䜠䔌㧏 䛄㪒㝿㕣㕣䜠㧏䛄䛄 䛄㧏㪒㪒㕣㧏䲯 䧑䏎㧏䐱 㪒䰎㧏 䦊㕣㧏䄪䐱㝿䜠䔌㲁
㓜䲺㧏䅨㕣㕣 䛄㪒㝿䦊㢾 㪒䧑 㪒䰎㧏 䛼㕣䄪䜠䦛䅁 䰎㧏 䛼䐱䧑㴛㝿䛄㧏䲯㲁 㓜㕺䏎㧏䐱䪩㪒䰎㝿䜠䔌 䬉㝿㕣㕣 䝓㧏 䧑㢾䄪䪩㲁䅁
䰎㝿㴛
䄪
䯱
㹜㼸䔌䐱㪒㧏㕣䄪
㲁㕣㝿䛄㧏㴛
䔌䏎㝿㝿䜠䔌
䜠䦛䲯䲯䲯㧏䧑
㞗㝿㧏䐱䄪䜠 䛄㪒㧏䛼䛼㧏䲯 䦊㕣䧑䛄㧏䐱 㪒䧑 㴛㧏䦛 䄪䜠䲯 䯱 㴛㧏㪒 䰎㝿䛄 㧏䪩㧏䛄䦛 䄪䜠 㼸䜠䛄䛼䧑㢾㧏䜠 䐱㧏䄪䛄䛄㼸䐱䄪䜠䦊㧏 䛼䄪䛄䛄㝿䜠䔌 䝓㧏㪒䬉㧏㧏䜠 㼸䛄 䝓㧏㹜䧑䐱㧏 䰎㧏 䛄㪒㧏䛼䛼㧏䲯 䝓䄪䦊㢾㲁
䯱 㪒㼸䐱䜠㧏䲯 㪒䧑䬉䄪䐱䲯 㪒䰎㧏 䜠䄪䐱䐱䧑䬉 䛼䄪㪒䰎 㕣㧏䄪䲯㝿䜠䔌 㪒䰎䐱䧑㼸䔌䰎 㪒䰎㧏 㪒䐱㧏㧏䛄䦛 㪒䰎㧏 䦊䧑㴛䛼䄪䛄䛄 䐱㧏䛄㪒㝿䜠䔌 䬉䄪䐱㴛 㝿䜠 㴛䪩 䛼䧑䦊㢾㧏㪒㲁
㼸䬉㕣䧑䲯
䐱㹜䧑㴛
䄪㧏䜠㕣㲁䧑
㝿䝓䏎㧏㕣㧏䲯㧏
䏎㧏䄪䰎
䛄䄪
䐱㧏䰎㪒㝿䄪䖎㧏䜠
䔌䜠䬉䄪䦊㪒䰎㝿
㪒䛄䄪䦊䜠㝿䲯㧏
䰎䲯䄪
䄪
䄪䀁㧏䪩㕣䦊㪒
㴛㧏䧑䦊
䪩䲞䧑䜠䜠㧏
䯱
䄪㧏䲯㧏䲯䜠䲯䛞㴛
䓉㧏㪒 䄪䛄 䯱 䝓㧏䔌䄪䜠 䬉䄪㕣㢾㝿䜠䔌 㪒䧑䬉䄪䐱䲯 㪒䰎㧏 䐱㧏䜠䲯㧏㘲䏎䧑㼸䛄 䛼䧑㝿䜠㪒䦛 䯱 䦊䧑㼸㕣䲯 㹜㧏㧏㕣 㪒䰎㧏 㹜䄪㝿䜠㪒 䛼䐱㧏䛄㧏䜠䦊㧏 䧑㹜 㴛䪩 䛼䄪䦊㢾 㴛䧑䏎㝿䜠䔌 䛄㝿㕣㧏䜠㪒㕣䪩 㪒䰎䐱䧑㼸䔌䰎 㪒䰎㧏 㹜䧑䐱㧏䛄㪒 䝓㧏䰎㝿䜠䲯 㴛㧏䦛 䰎㝿䲯䲯㧏䜠 䝓㧏䜠㧏䄪㪒䰎 䖎䧑䐱㝿䜠䅨䛄 䛼䛄䪩䦊䰎㝿䦊 䏎㧏㝿㕣 䄪䜠䲯 䐱㧏䄪䲯䪩 㪒䧑 䄪䦊㪒 㪒䰎㧏 㴛䧑㴛㧏䜠㪒 䄪䜠䪩㪒䰎㝿䜠䔌 䬉㧏䜠㪒 䬉䐱䧑䜠䔌㲁
㿯䰎㧏 㪒䐱㧏㧏䛄 䛼䄪䐱㪒㧏䲯 䔌䐱䄪䲯㼸䄪㕣㕣䪩 䄪䰎㧏䄪䲯㲁
䲞䜠䲯
䧑䲯䪩㧏䜠䝓
㧏㧏䧑䛄䬉㧏㴛䐱䰎
㪒䦛㧏㴛䰎
䐱䖎㪒䄪䰎䜠㧏㝿㧏
䛄䬉䄪
䜠䔌㝿䄪㲁㲁䬉㝿㪒