1. Why is Ulzhan writing to Karen? 2. What activity has she recently
taken up?
3. How often does she practise?
4. Who does she practise with?
5. How does she feel about
raising money for local charities?
6. Has she ever played in
a charity match?

Вас! ) и вам) перевод стиха на язык:           the clouds are gray, gloomy, rain is not far off.  autumn.  bare ground fog zavoloka. that is my only weapon of satiety, the only weapon to keep warm, sporting, strigunka catches in the steppe strigunok.  no grass, no tulips.  and everywhere was quiet sonorous hubbub of children, young guys laughing.  and the trees, like the poor old men, standing bare, bereft of their leaves.  the skin of a bull, a sheep in a tub tan. repairing old coats and quilted robe.  moloduha patch leaky tent, and the old woman for weeks suchat thread.  shoals stretched south cranes.  caravans of camels passed under them, and in the villages - gloom and silence.  laughter is a funny game remained away: winds, becoming colder, chill hurts and old people and children.  dogs catch hungry mice field is not found, as it did, scraps, bones, wind raises dust - over the steppe black.  autumn, damp.  but it has opened, - bad habits - can not kindle the fire.  our yurts are now uncomfortably dark.

The clouds are gray, gloomy, rain is not far off. autumn. bare ground fog zavoloka. that is my only weapon of satiety, the only weapon to keep warm, sporting, strigunka catches in the steppe strigunok. no grass, no tulips. and everywhere was quiet voiced hubbub of children, young guys laughing. and the trees, like the poor old men, are the bare, bereft of their leaves. the skin of a bull, a sheep in a tub tan. repairing old coats and quilted robe. moloduha patch leaky tent, and the old woman for weeks suchat thread. shoals stretched south cranes. caravans of camels passed under them, and in the villages - gloom and silence. laughter fun games were away: winds, becoming colder, chill hurts and old people and children. dogs catch hungry mice field, unable to find, as it did, scraps, bones, wind raises dust - over the steppe black. autumn, damp. but already opened - bad habits - can not kindle the fire. our yurts are now uncomfortably dark.