In the short minutes in which Ivan had been outside, the young boy had become drenched in rain, his messy brown hair sticking to his face and blocking his left eye. He coughed miserably; foul weather was never good for his asthmatic lungs. Still a bit sore over the fact that he couldn't offer any help, he looked back at the caravan, trying to see who had just stepped out of it. [i]ой. Это человек в маске[/i] He thought, running a hand through his soaking wet hair.