On a freezing winter's morning in downtown Lviv, a small crowd of passers-by form around three Ukrainian soldiers on a street corner holding microphones and playing a keyboard.
The soldiers belt out patriotic ballads as a small boy in the crowd sways to the music and an older man beside him drops a handful of coins into a collection box.
"This is a charity fundraiser for the costs of the Ukrainian fighters in the occupied regions," a sign on the box reads.
As Russia appears to be on the threshold of invasion into Ukraine, the western Ukrainian city of Lviv still feels like a world away.
In the city's main square, children squeal as they glide across an ice rink and groups of teenagers howl with laughter at each other's jokes. Crowds of people from a nearby bar spill onto the street, cups of steaming hot cherry vodka in their hands.
The only signs of strain are in the irregular patrols of young men in Ukrainian military uniforms who march unarmed in groups down the city's cobbled streets.
As Russian tensions along Ukraine's borders reach boiling point, Lviv has become something of a sanctuary for diplomats, businesspeople and Ukrainians from other parts of the country fleeing all-out war.
Australia relocated its embassy staff from Kyiv to Lviv almost a fortnight ago. With the situation looking worse, they are now expected to move again to Warsaw in neighbouring Poland.
"The worst fear is that war would start," says Veronica, a woman who moved from Kyiv to a hotel room in Lviv last week with her husband and one-year-old daughter.
"I have a baby in my arms and I want to smile and I want to be able to think of good things. Unfortunately, the news reports don't make it easy."
Another Ukrainian, Laysa Kasian, arrived in Lviv by train on Monday after making the snap decision only three days previously to pack a suitcase and travel to join her daughter in the city — at least, she says, until things calmed down.
"We live in limbo," she says. "Those who have the opportunity to go somewhere to the west of the country, they leave."
'We would love to believe this war will never happen'
But even as Russia moves troops into areas of eastern Ukraine controlled by Russian-backed separatists, life continues uninterrupted on the streets of Lviv.
Ask any Ukrainian in the city and many will bristle at mention of the potential for all-out war — some outright deny it is possible. It's common to hear the refrain that it's unhelpful to panic about something that hasn't happened.
"I still believe it's 50-50," says Zhanna Shevchenko, a PR consultant in Lviv who has helped several Ukrainians fleeing other parts of the country find temporary accommodation in the city.
"It's human nature to think the worst thing will not happen. We don't believe we will die one day. We would love to believe this war will never happen."
In Ms Shevchenko's hand is a smartphone she checks diligently every few minutes for news of Russia's troops along Ukraine's borders.
"My body is here. But my mind is in the east of Ukraine," she says.
At Lviv's central railway station, trains arrive every day from the eastern regions of the country, bringing with them Ukrainians seeking refuge closer to Ukraine's border with Poland.
"People seem to me to be creating more panic than there is reason," says one woman waiting for her train with her sister and niece.
"I'm not a politician, I don't have a military education, but I don't understand this. I'm just an ordinary citizen of Ukraine."
Poland prepares for refugees
Over the border to the west in Poland, the government insists it is readying for the possibility of hundreds of thousands of refugees fleeing Ukraine in the event of Russian invasion — but there seems to be little evidence of any preparations yet.
Some volunteers in towns and cities in Poland's east have taken matters into their own hands, packing boxes of food and essential goods to distribute to centres along the border.
"We predict around 1 or 2 million refugees," says Kinga Zielnicka, a volunteer for the Polish Red Cross who works by day in an agency helping unemployed people in the eastern city of Lublin.
"Ukrainians are our neighbours. And sometimes I wonder what would happen if Poland was in the same situation?"
She and a handful of other volunteers haul boxes laden with tinned vegetables and blankets into the backs of vans, ready to be whisked away to refugee centres close to the Ukrainian border.
Back in Lviv, the sun has begun to set over the rooftops of the city. A busker plays a mournful melody on a public bench.
On stressful days, sometimes Ms Shevchenko's mind wanders and she imagines herself to be like the Europeans going about their daily chores on the day before the outbreak of World War II.
"I try not to go deep in this mood," she said. "But it happened automatically."
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