"What are you doing here at my hut, boy? And who are you, to disturb me?"

"I am sorry to disturb you, Baba Sonya. I am Teodor Kamarev, from Kyrnoka, and my baba told me I should bring my question to you. A young man in the stanista has trouble with the realm of the spirits."

"Ah, the little ataman. Varvara is a sensible young woman, and would not send you to me frivolously. Very well, but first, refill my woodpile. It should not take you long."

"Of course, Baba." It was bizarre to hear his grandmother, at least seventy winters old, called a 'young woman', but everyone knows that Hags grow ancient, and it was said Baba Sonya was at least twice that age.

There was a good sharp axe hanging over the woodpile under the eaves, and two young fallen trees half-stripped of their branches in plain view, so the errand was not hard. He could see where the wood pile was supposed to reach, by the weathering of the wall behind it, and stacked it up slightly higher than that.

He checked on his horse - nervous, but not testing its line to the tree - and then knocked on the front door.

"Baba, I think the pile is full again."

She comes out and checks the pile, then nods. "Good boy. Now, come in - you shall share my tea, and then ask your questions."

"Thank you, Baba," he says, and sits down to accept some tea. Good and hot - even in spring and working hard, Kislev is cold.

"So," she says as he has taken a few large sips, "What problems with the spirits have you had, that your grandmother sent you to me?"

"The stories say that the Ice Court do not allow men to use the magic of the world - not their ice, or the hag's arts, or anything else. And they say that an experienced hag witch can remove it from a man, if he does not want to flee to the imperinyi. Is that true?"

"It is. They have a prophecy, they say, that a man who wields ice magic will destroy the Ice Court forever and bring ruin to Kislev. And so I can curse you to remove your ability to touch the winds and spirits of magic."

"What - happens, when you do that? A young man in the village started seeing spirits, and he did not want to talk to you, because he was afraid."

She laughs, a short bark of a laugh. "Don't be silly, boy. Your grandmother is only a wise woman and might believe your tale, but I can see perfectly well that you are the one with the touch of magic about you."

"...My apologies, Baba Sonya. I did not mean to lie to you."

She is still smiling. "No, you tried to deceive me with nothing but truth. Clever boy, and brave, if not wise. But you need not fear, today. This is a curse to be placed on the willing, or on the Za. And one I would not place this on a man who was not very sure. Do you want to be ataman so much, that you would give up the chance to be a wind-witch in the south?"

"No, I... I think I might ask even if I was born imperinyi. I do not like that I was born with power, without earning it. I do not like that anyone is, without earning the blessing of the gods, or of the land. To be ataman, at least, I must show myself able to do the job, as my father has shown, or else the stanitsa would break with tradition and pick a man that could keep order and lead the rota against the Za."

"Interesting little man you are, Teodor. But know what you are refusing. You could not wrap yourself in a blizzard or speak with the beast-spirits of the wood and oblast, but you could learn to read destinies and secrets in the stars, or walk through bonfires, or become a ghost of smoke and fear. You could master the secret alchemies of metal and logic, or become one with the growing season, the trees and the farms. Or the beasts, the light, or death itself. Magic is a great gift, and you could do great things with it, even if they could not be done in the Motherland."

"I... I know. I can see them swirl around. Hear them, sometimes. When the rota went out to fight the Zelenyie, they muttered that the hag did not ride to aid them against the shaman. But I told them to shush. Because I could see the magic surging out here, that you must be doing something important."

"Hmm, so I was. The spirits of the hills were angry from something their shamans did, and I kept the rota from fighting both at once. Sharp witchsight you have. But you still want it taken from you."

"I... think so. The curse to take away the witch-gift, it cannot be broken?"

"Oh, the simple kind can. And it hurts, so if we were north on the deep oblast, with only Ungols around, I might do only this. But we are here in the south, too near to Kislev City. So I must do it many times, until it takes hold fully and burns the connection away, or you would run into an Ice Witch with the rota and she would see it and kill you for the chance that it might someday be broken. It will hurt, but it will not injure, not beyond the hurt to the spirit."

"I am a son of Kislev; I will not shrink from a little necessary pain. But... there is one thing, that makes me wish I did not have to."

She nods to the first, then cocks her head. "Oh?"

"Witch-sight is beautiful. I wish I could keep it, while losing the 'hands' that make me a risk to others."

She chuckles. "Of all things to hold you back from the decision, it is beauty?"

"Yes," he says shortly, most of the respectful air he's maintained draining away for a moment.

She drops the mockery and grins. "Good for you. It is a very fine reason. And it is not one I could solve for you. But - it is possible."

He gives a part-bow, silently apologizing for his moment of disrespect. "What must I do?"

"No ordinary Hag Witch could do such a delicate curse. But not all hags are ordinary. There are three Mother Hags I know of, the oldest and wisest of us, and I think any of them could - but approaching them is a delicate business, even for one of their sisters." She pauses, then continues, slightly hesitantly, "The closest is in the depths of the Dukhlys Forest, and with careful guidance and a token from me, you might find her."

"Do you think I should not?", he asks.

"Baba Ostankya is the most powerful Hag Witch we have ever had. But she is sometimes more spirit than woman. If you reach her alive and intact, and tell her why you wish the different curse, she will grant it without demanding of you a task, but..."

"...because reaching her is a trial itself. I have heard of her. I was never sure whether to believe the stories true."

"Many are. Some of the ones for small children... exaggerated. But if you seek her out, assuming her to be as your baba Varvara told you, you will not be greatly surprised. And if you turn back, I will give you the more ordinary curse, and take your 'eyes'."

"Should I seek out one of the other two, then?"

"To find Baba Niedzwenka is much simpler. North to Bolsagrad, then take passage down the Lynsk until you near Erengrad and see a witch's hut floating on the waves, on the river or in the bay. But Niedzwenka is old, older than Kislev, and though she protects her people and the Motherland, she does not like Gospodar. I do not know what trial she will set you, but it will not be an easy one, unless your tongue is silver and gold."

"Have I heard stories of her as well? The Sea Witch?"

"There is not truly a Sea Witch. But what truth there is in those stories, is Baba Niedzwenka. When she was much younger, she was much angrier, and she would still prefer that Erengrad was once again Novard, a pure Ungol city. But she is not so cruel or capricious as they say, nor does she have so little regard for the life of Gospodar. She would protect you from Za, though she might grumble like a dwarf all the while."

"Perhaps the third, then?"

"I should not have mentioned her."

"...If you are certain?"

She hmmphs. "Do not seek out Baba Osuleg. She could do it, yes, but... she took on a great duty. The warding of Troll Country against Za. But it has been a long duty, and the Za is subtle. She has avoided our councils for many years now and sent only messengers."

And so she is not trusted, and it is perhaps only a matter of time before the other hags decide she is tainted and must be purged as they do with tainted newborns.

"I understand. I will not look for Baba Osuleg."

"And where will you look?"

"I think... I trust my senses more than my tongue. So the forest. If you have guidance to give me, I will gratefully accept it."

"You should go to Sanyza, then east into the forest and along the Shoik. She will be to the north, in the hills, before the fork where the headwaters come down from the Ropsals and meet the Shoik flowing west from Moraveny. You cannot find the way yourself. I will give you a token, with a spirit who has visited her before. Do not try to speak with it. Merely let the horn guide you as you travel and hunt."

She pauses, and reaches to the wall beside her, where a forked fragment of deer's horn hangs, and takes it down in her hands. She also pulls out a leather bag from a pocket, and he can see that its lining is not leather, but something soft and inky-dark.

"And... how I let it guide me will make sense when I have it in hand?"

"Once the spirit is back in the woods, you will feel its push. The best time to seek Baba Ostankya's cottage is on the dark night of the white moon, in a month where the evil moon is dim. You must not tarry - it is nearly a month's journey to Sanyza and the Shoik, and the horn will not last forever before the spirit becomes restive. Keep the horn in its bag until the dark night comes this month, then withdraw it in the first light of Vsykoya on the evening her light returns, seven nights hence, to wake the spirit within. You will find the start of the path in daylight and wait outside; the horn will shake. Step carefully, for her traps are many, but with all your senses and the spirit's help, you may find her door, if you are lucky. If you must retreat, or are delayed, the second night of dark moon will also serve, but no more - you will never find the path by Vsykoya's light, not without training no hag will give you."

He nods, clearly trying to commit it all to memory.

"When you reach her door, knock twice with the horn. You have been a polite young man - continue to be so. State your request clearly. Tell her the horn came from me - she will know already, but say it true. Do not challenge her; do not request anything you do not need; if she offers you tea or food, refuse once, and accept only if she offers twice. If she tells you to refrain from something, no matter how small, do so. Be polite in bearing as well as in word; do not challenge her even as you challenged me when I questioned your reason for asking. If she chooses to demand further labor, do it without complaint, and question only what you must - do not ask its purpose. She will tell you where to sleep, and if not by her hearth, in your own tent outside - but do not wander. You may need to stay in her glade for as long as three days; prepare yourself accordingly."

"Will you remember?"

He begins to nod, pauses, looks down and away for a few moments. Then he raises his eyes again and nods properly. "I will. Will the horn guide me back out of her glade again?"

"No, it will remain there - this is the promise for which it provides you this service. When Vsykoya's light rises on the third night, it will break, and the spirit will be free. Or sooner, if Baba Ostankya wishes it. She will guide you away herself, whether or not you perceive her doing so."

She holds out the horn, which he can now 'see' has magic gathered around it, in a wispy shifting mess of 'color'.

He takes it, carefully and reverently.

"Thank you, Baba Sonya. Is there anything else I should know?"

"Not today. Go. And take the blessing of the Widow and the Motherland with you, young man."

"Thank you again, Baba. The tea was excellent," he says, and turns to leave and return to his horse.

He takes two days to gather what supplies he needs, and three of the younger lancers from the rota volunteer to escort him. He accepts but tells them he will leave them behind at Sanyza and go through the forest alone. They protest, until he reminds them that he is following instructions from a hag, at which point they reluctantly agree that deviating from her words is unwise and they will wait at the tirsa.

He doesn't even have to explain why he's going or what, exactly, he's looking for. "I asked the hag about a problem and she said to do this" gets grumbling acceptance from everyone, even his father. (Well, his grandmother seems to have worked out that it's about him having witch-sight, from her vaguely smug looks, but she doesn't say anything about it.)

And then they set out, with spare horses carrying food (and coins to buy more along the road). Northwest over open ground to Belava, where he opens the bag in the white moon's light as ordered. Then north along the East Road, cross the Lynsk at Baiyn and ask better directions. Which are to turn east at Yvegka, and then over open ground again to Sanyza. Two and half weeks of travel, three-quarters if you count the two days preparing, and they arrive at the home of the local druzhina with ten days left before Teodor fails his quest.

"What brings you to our little tirsa, honored cousin Kamarev?"

"A task from a hag, alas. A personal one; I must go deep into the forest by the next dark of the white moon."

"I can find you a hunter to ride the good paths to the river. But be careful - in those woods, there is a hag most fearsome. Baba Ostankya is not a children's tale, not in Dukhlys Forest."

"I know. It is her I must seek. I would not ask any to ride with me - my comrades who came with me will stop here."

The local headman turns very serious, and even sets down his kvas. "Fell tasks, then. But if your hag told you it must be done, it must be done. What the cost if you fail?"

"I will bear it myself. If I am not back by the next dark moon, my comrades will carry the bad news home to my father. I am sure they can make themselves useful while they are here - we brought denga to pay, but I know there is not so much coin can do, this far from the nearest market."

With a grim expression, he nods and drains his mug, then refills both of theirs. "As befits a druzhina and an ataman's son. You will be a fine successor for him, I am sure. Tomorrow, I will lead you to the river myself. But tonight, while it is warm - we drink!"

"We drink!"

The paths from the tirsa to the river are not used enough to be obvious, but they pick their way along them and the horses don't complain. Twice they pause the travel to take a deer with their bows and get venison to eat.

The third night, the man musters the courage to ask Teodor about his task.

"What is it that you had to do, that needs you to find the hag of all hags?"

Teo is silent for a few moments, then decides that his help has earned the truth, or something close to it.

"I have the witch-gift. A strong one. And you know what the Ice Witches do to men with the gift. Our hag, she said she could take it away, but it would be rough. I seek Baba Ostankya because I was promised that she could remove it cleanly, leaving me with all my senses."

"You may die. Most who intrude on the Hag Mother do."

"Well, that's what this trinket is for," he says, waving the horn that's been hanging on a leather cord from his neck, "Shows that our Baba Sonya thought I should come here, and will help me walk through Baba Ostankya's traps. If I am lucky."

"Brave young man, you are."

"That or foolish. I'm not sure which - perhaps I'll wish I'd let the Ice Court take me, if I'm unlucky."

"Either way, I'll drink to that." They didn't bring much kvas along, but there's enough for a couple little mugs.

He parts ways at the river, after asking for any landmarks he should be able to see that he's approaching the hills. He makes somewhat better time along the bank, but it's still several days, and he's thankful for the leftover venison. It has a bitter taste, like most meat smoked this far north, but it's filling and he doesn't need to stop to hunt more - the moon is down to a thin crescent, and he's regretting taking two whole days to prepare.

But on the fourth night, he feels the horn shake northward as he is making camp. Three nights hence, if he's counting right; four if he can do without a second try. Soon, he'll face Baba Ostyanka - or else face Ursun in his own caves.

Through this last part, he's leading his horse, and going slowly. The horn guides him, but there is no path, and often he has to backtrack around a particularly treacherous-looking gully. He wishes he could leave Lovkiya behind for this, but there was absolutely no safe place to pasture her for multiple days, and probably isn't anywhere in this forest.

But he does get there. He walks around a rise and finds a goat path, and the horn shakes vigorously. Thank you for the clear warning, he does not say because the hag told him not to. He then berates himself for thinking it too loudly, because he has witch-gift, that might work. He sets up camp and hangs the horn outside his tent.

He's really doing this. Preparing to navigate a path of traps by the Old Mother Hag, Baba Ostankya, the subject of a thousand scary children's stories and maternal threats.

Because he doesn't want to have to stop seeing the winds of magic.

He lied four nights ago. He knows perfectly well this is foolish. And he won't even get a flying ship out of it.

...To be fair, if there's anyone living who could give the fool his flying ship it would be Baba Ostankya.

Not that he can ask.

He rests most of the day - it's been hard travel, and he does want to be sharp. He prepares snares in the morning, and cooks a small rabbit stew as the sun starts to sink. He eats and reads what notes he wrote, when he had gotten home from Baba Sonya's hut and found spare parchment. But he is watching for the moment of sunset, and then he stands, takes the horn in hand, and peers ahead at the path, with both of his sights.

He does not think he could actually describe to anyone else what he sees on that path. It's magic, but magic applied to hide itself, even from witchsight. There are specific steps he can see are safe by the light of the moon that isn't there, and he's not sure if that's his witchsight, his normal sight, or something the spirit in the horn is doing. The spirit surges and swirls and sometimes gestures for him to move in a direction, and he does. At one point her almost steps into a snare, but the snare is made of magic and it's not tensed in any of the normal directions, but another one at a right angle to reality. He walks along the top of a log with a nasty pool of something that 'sounds' boiling to either side, and only a warning from the horn's spirit prepares him before a terrifying vision of what he'd guess is the Ancient Widow angry charges at him from nowhere and he has to struggle to keep his balance.

His eyes are sharp. His mind is level and calm. And he still has to get lucky, at least three times that he notices.

But, as the foul green moon rises over the World's Edge Mountains... he reaches the cabin. The hut - and the only way it could be more of a child's story of a hag's hut is if it rested on chicken legs.

And he reaches out with the horn, and knocks on the door, two sharp raps.

"Who visits my home on the night of dark moon?", says a voice through the door.

"Teodor Kamarev, Baba Ostankya. Baba Sonya sent me to you."

"And how should I know that is true, hmm?"

"She gave me this horn, with a spirit tied into it, and told me to knock twice."

"So she did," the witch says, and opens her door. "You may sit at my table and explain why she sent you here."

The inside of the hut looks... well, much like Baba Sonya's but moreso. Many strange things hang on the walls, a large cauldron bubbles quietly in the corner but gives off no heat, dried root vegetables and herbs hang from the rafters but several are no plant he's ever seen alive. There are two chairs, one smaller and rougher, which he sits in. He lays the horn on the table and waits, tense, for her to sit and speak.

Before she does, she picks up the horn, shakes it slightly, then leans out of the door holding it in the night air and whispers. It gives a loud crack and shatters, and the spirit's energy swirls outward and vanishes into the forest.

Then she closes the door and sits at the table across from him.

"Now, tell me what is so necessary that you disturb my vigil of the forest."

"I am sorry to disturb your doings, Baba, and I did not know of your vigil. I came to Baba Sonya seeking to lose my witch-gift but keep the sight, and she said that she could not do it, but you could, and directed me here on the night I could find the way."

She reaches out a hand to dip a finger in the cauldron and watch the steam boil off from her nail. "I suppose it is not dangerous to turn my gaze nearby for a few hours. So, you want to keep your edge, do you? An advantage against invaders, or rivals to be ataman or boyar?"

"No, Baba. After walking your path, I cannot deny it is useful, but that is not why I asked Baba Sonya. I do not want to give it up, because the sight of the spirit winds is beautiful."

"Hmm," she says, and repeats the dip into the cauldron, but this time she flicks the droplets toward his face.

He manages to avoid sputtering, because that would probably be impolite.

"I see. I suppose I can do such without any great difficulty. But that is best done in Dazh's light. You may make your bedroll against the far wall," she says, gesturing to the side away from the hearth.

"Thank you, Baba," he says, and looks toward that wall, which is the cold one, not where you would usually offer a guest if you lacked a spare bed. Then he considers that the cauldron is, naturally, next to the hearth, and mentally concedes the point.

Then he realizes he has been offered something and should refuse it the first time. Except that it's also where she told her to sleep - Baba Sonya, your advice is conflicting!

"...though if I would be troublesome within the house, I would be fine pitching my tent outside."

"No, no, better to keep you in sight."

"Yes, Baba, as you say."

And he takes his bag carefully against a clear patch of wall and puts down a bedroll in which he will hopefully fall asleep quickly, because the alternative is lying awake in Baba Ostankya's hut considering what she's going to do, which does not sound like a recipe for a restful night to follow.

He does, though. And if he got magical help he doesn't know about it.

In the morning the Hag Mother is gathering various talismans and herbs, the oddest of them what looks like an entire peeled onion skin spliced together into a sheet with some kind of tiny hooks. There's also the smell of cooking stew.

"Ah, you're awake. I must arrange the space outside. Have some stew while I do, but wait until I have cleared these tools from the table."

"Thank you, Baba Ostankya, but I can eat what I brought," he says as he carefully sits up, being sure not to disturb anything on the table or walls.

Which is polite. Also he's not sure he wants anything cooked in The Cauldron.

"Silly boy, you'll need your strength for the ritual. And that food for your journey home. Just be sure not to touch my tools - only the bowls and spoons are safe."

He rose a little taller and saw that there was a pot in the hearthfire with the stew, mercifully, not The Cauldron.

"Then I will gladly take some stew, thank you. It smells delicious."

She nods, and gathers most of what she has gathered, heading outside to prepare whatever ritual she needs. Wants? Saying that the hag of hags 'needs' ritual is probably a mistake.

Teodor doesn't approach the table until she's come back for everything, though he does inspect the little cabinet that holds her spoons, bowls, plates, and knives, next to the hearth on the opposite side from The Cauldron.

When she does come back, she puts most of the remaining contents of the table in a bag hanging from her belt, and very carefully takes the onionskin sheet in hand. Then the way is clear.

The interesting thing is that very few of the things she was gathering showed up to witchsight at all. Definitely not that onion-skin thing. He's very curious but absolutely shouldn't ask.

Fortunately he can now distract himself with stew.

He's waiting a while after that, but not more than an hour, before Baba Ostankya returns.

"Alright, boy, come outside. I'll work the ritual at noon, but you must know your part."

"Yes, Baba. What must I do?"

She outlines most of the ritual in broad strokes. He'll sit on a stump in the middle of a circle she's assembled, several tools and fetishes hanging off him and his hands tied behind his back with an unusual cord. She will chant and channel energy. It will take at least an hour.

"But above all," she says, "You must not use your sight. Keep your eyes open, but blocked entirely by the onion mask, and do not touch your witch-sight. Done properly, this will hurt; done improperly, it will cripple you in more ways than the spiritual"

He gulps. "Yes, Baba. Will it disrupt the ritual if I cry out in pain?"

"Don't distract me. But as long as you keep yourself under control you should be unobjectionable."

He nods, and they continue. There are a few places where he needs to say part of a ritual formula. But mostly his responsibility is to sit still and not screw it up. A challenging task, but he can manage to restrain his curiosity.

She checks him over a few times to be sure that he's not using his sight, and fidgeting seems to be fine. Then it's time to start the real thing.

The onion-mask is weird. It's thin enough he can see light and dark through it, but not details. The individual pieces hooked together are just large enough to cover his eyes and peripheral vision. It's like trying to see during a moonless night, only he can't give up and close his eyes.

The bound hands, by contrast, don't bother him much after the first few minutes. Being behind his back is uncomfortable, but he can manage.

Still, he hopes this will only be an hour.

Baba Ostankya walks the edge of the circle, muttering in a singsong language that sounds almost like standard Gospodarinyi. The old Ungol tongue, maybe? She interacts with one of the talismans every dozen steps, picking up one of the eight laid out at the points of the wheel of magic and star of Chaos.

After a while, a sense of light and heat start coming from one side, and trickles of mist touch his skin from the other. If he knew more about the winds of magic, or opened his 'eyes', he would probably deduce something from that.

Nope, nope, not doing that. He will see what he can work out of the language, how about that? That's something safe to be curious about. Unless it's the Dark Tongue but if she's chanting in the Dark Tongue he's screwed anyway. And so is Kislev because it means the hags are corrupt.

Then he will be okay until the sun gets about as close to overhead as it's going to, when she starts raising her voice and he starts hurting. A lot. His hands are burning from the inside. His legs, too. His stomach is dancing. He has a sudden splitting headache and it feels like someone is playing war drums on his back teeth.

(He probably won't notice that the headache and assorted other pains are staying entirely clear of his eyes.)

That is correct he will not notice that. He is busily making loud noises! Loud noises of pain! This is awful!

However he is a son of Kislev and it's not like he hasn't been in enormous pain before. He will calm down. In a minute.

A few minutes.

Certainly not an hour.

Yeah okay he is no longer shouting, screaming, moaning, or otherwise making Loud Pain Sounds. It still hurts, but he is coping. It's a lot more uncomfortable to have his hands tied behind his back when they are also on fire, so coping involves some undignified wiggling and shaking, but he's coping.

(He is aware that this fire is almost certainly not literal. Unfortunately, he can't check that because he has a mask made of onions he's not supposed to look around.)

Sure hope this ends quickly.

Quickly is probably an overstatement. But the pain gradually fades from his limbs and concentrates itself toward his heart over the next fifteen minutes. This reduces the total amount of pain as it goes... not as quickly as it's concentrating it, though. How does he feel about severe heartburn and his stomach jumping around even more?

He is not a fan and neither is his breakfast. Not looking past the onion mask while keeping his eyes open may be tricky while he is throwing up but he does not seem to have volitional control here.

"Nepodkikzeni!", she barks, which probably means something like 'quiet, you!' in old Roppsmen or something. He freezes involuntarily and so does his breakfast, even heading back down where it belongs.

Then there is a bucket pressed against his chin and lower face.

Oh good he can do that now.

Right. Dry heaves still suck and he definitely blinked hard a few times, but it's getting less bad. Probably he hasn't screwed up the ritual?

The chanting goes back to normal, so at least Baba Ostankya is unconcerned.

And it's only another five minutes or so before it's basically faded, and the mask is removed.

"It is done. Well endured, young man."

He is going to be blinking in the light for a while, but he manages to say "Thank you, Baba." in there somewhere.

And then he open his other eyes as well, and they still work, too. He can see the traces of each of the eight winds sitting on the points of the circle, blowing into the background but still there. He can still see!

On the other hand he's just been in severe pain for a good chunk of an hour and then lost his lunch. And he's out of adrenaline.

So he may be collapsing a bit.

He will be pushed into a chair to lean back against, and another bowl of stew pushed into his hands.

"Eat. You need it."

"Uh...? Yes, Baba," he says, and accepts both.

Yeah that was a good idea he's ravenous. Is he going to be offered more? He hopes so because he can't ask.

Good news, he is. Fortunately he slows down for the second bowl.

"The curse took hold, as expected. You have a strong will and a strong body, young man."

"Thank you, Baba Ostankya. Is there anything more I should do?"

He sets down the bowl and spoon on the stump.

"Only what any man should do - serve the Motherland well and wisely, against all its danger. I believe you will."

"Of course, Baba."

"Good boy. Now, go, with my blessing," she says, and hands him his pack.

"Thank you, Baba," he says, as he looks down and takes hold of it. When he looks up, he hears a whinny, and Lovkiya is just behind him... at the last camp they made by the river's side.

Well, that kind of thing does happen, when you're in a story about great hags. He thinks this is one of the ones about what you should do, though perhaps he'll return and find three hundred years have passed and his stanitsa was destroyed by another Great War Against Chaos.

No, the camps he made with the headman still look only a week or two old, and all his comrades from the rota are still waiting in Sanyza.

And they have a lot of kvas.

Then they can celebrate! And then go home, in less of a hurry than before, and even buy some things from the town markets along the way. And then they will be home! Entirely intact and with a probably-figurative blessing from Baba Ostankya!

And a day after he gets home, he is trotting along a path in the woods again, with larger saddlebags.

Baba Sonya is sitting outside today.

"You look well, young Teodor."

"I feel well also, and have all the senses I did when we last spoke. Thank you, Baba Sonya. It was at times painful, and terrifying, and confusing, but it was worth it."

"And you came here just to tell me so?"

"No. I also brought gifts."

He dismounts, and opens his saddlebags.

"A peck of southern apples, only a week from the tree. And... something, a coin that sparkles to the Sight. If you want them."

She smiles. "Keep the coin. Thread it into your wing when you join the rota. But I will take the apples, and thank you for them. You're a good boy, young Teodor."

"Thank you, Baba Sonya."