left, and finally Sasha's well-intended help, which hurt so he yelped.
"I'm sorry," Sasha said.
He nodded. It was all he had the breath to do.
And it was, inevitably, a breakfast of raw grain, his hands shaking so he could hardly eat and his, teeth chattering so he could hardly chew it. He simply tucked it in his cheek to work on over the hours, not sure whether living was worth this.
"You shouldn't have said that to the god," Sasha said as they started out. "You should beg his pardon. Please."
"Of what?" Pyetr said. "He didn't hit us, did he?"
"That's a forest we have to go through. There's leshys and the god knows what. Don't offend things! Please!"
"Nonsense," Pyetr said, in less than good humor. "I've a wizard to help me. Why should I worry?"
"Don't
do
that, Pyetr Illitch!"
"So go back to Vojvoda. Tell them I was an impious fool. Tell them I kidnapped you and forest-devils carried me off, and you ran home. I don't care. I don't need your nattering, boy!"
He was not, admittedly, in the best of humors. He tried the muddy downslope, with his sword for a cane, his knees shaking with the cold, and Sasha fluttering along by him. Every misstep and every jolt hurt him this morning, now that cold had set into the wound, and he swore when he hurt himself and swore when Sasha got in his way.
"Please," Sasha said to him. "Please."
He tried to hurry. He skidded on the mud and Sasha caught him. Thank the god.
Thank the boy, too, who was so stubbornly, seriously good-natured, no matter his other failings. Pyetr stood there braced against the lad and finally patted his shoulder and gave a breath of a laugh and said, panting, "Steady, lad. Steady."
"Yes," Sasha said. "Lean on me."
He did that, took his balance from the boy, down to level ground where he could catch his breath, a little warmer now, despite the chill of their soaked clothing.
"Nasty place," he said, looking at the thicket which closed off everything ahead, a dead-gray and lifeless wall across their path.
Sasha said nothing.
"There's Vojvoda," Pyetr said. "You could still go back, boy. Nothing you've done's so serious. You could lie to them. You don't have to tell them about helping me—"
Sasha shook his head no.
"Well," Pyetr said, nerving himself, "it can't be far to the river. One hopes."
But bending down then, Sasha took a little of their precious grain and poured it on a rock.
"Field-thing," Sasha said. "We're leaving. Thank you." And he stood and flung a little more, into the forest. "Forest, we're only walking through. We won't do any harm."
Pyetr shook his head. Probably, he thought, the only thing it made well-disposed to them was starving squirrels. But he added to Sasha's little offering a couple of precious grains from his own pocket, to please the boy, then flung another two or three at the thicket ahead of them and called aloud, feeling altogether like a fool:
"Forest, here come two desperate outlaws! We'll do you no harm, so do us none, and get us safely to the river!"
The wind shifted. What breathed out of the woods was colder than the meadow air.
"Small good that did," Pyetr muttered, caught his breath of that cold air, and limped ahead, saying: "Look out, devils."
"Don't joke," Sasha said. "Please don't joke, Pyetr Illitch. Don't you
know
what they say? Forests are the worst to meddle with."
"I don't know. I don't bother with such tales. They're not healthy."
"There's leshys, for one, that have their feet on backwards. We mustn't follow tracks. There's Forest-things that sing to you and you have to follow…"
"We follow the road," Pyetr said, setting his jaw. "We take nothing. We talk very politely to the devils and the Forest-things, and we keep walking and we pay no attention to singers in the trees, who are likely to be birds, if any live here."
"Deer should have eaten all the grain," Sasha
"I'm sorry," Sasha said.
He nodded. It was all he had the breath to do.
And it was, inevitably, a breakfast of raw grain, his hands shaking so he could hardly eat and his, teeth chattering so he could hardly chew it. He simply tucked it in his cheek to work on over the hours, not sure whether living was worth this.
"You shouldn't have said that to the god," Sasha said as they started out. "You should beg his pardon. Please."
"Of what?" Pyetr said. "He didn't hit us, did he?"
"That's a forest we have to go through. There's leshys and the god knows what. Don't offend things! Please!"
"Nonsense," Pyetr said, in less than good humor. "I've a wizard to help me. Why should I worry?"
"Don't
do
that, Pyetr Illitch!"
"So go back to Vojvoda. Tell them I was an impious fool. Tell them I kidnapped you and forest-devils carried me off, and you ran home. I don't care. I don't need your nattering, boy!"
He was not, admittedly, in the best of humors. He tried the muddy downslope, with his sword for a cane, his knees shaking with the cold, and Sasha fluttering along by him. Every misstep and every jolt hurt him this morning, now that cold had set into the wound, and he swore when he hurt himself and swore when Sasha got in his way.
"Please," Sasha said to him. "Please."
He tried to hurry. He skidded on the mud and Sasha caught him. Thank the god.
Thank the boy, too, who was so stubbornly, seriously good-natured, no matter his other failings. Pyetr stood there braced against the lad and finally patted his shoulder and gave a breath of a laugh and said, panting, "Steady, lad. Steady."
"Yes," Sasha said. "Lean on me."
He did that, took his balance from the boy, down to level ground where he could catch his breath, a little warmer now, despite the chill of their soaked clothing.
"Nasty place," he said, looking at the thicket which closed off everything ahead, a dead-gray and lifeless wall across their path.
Sasha said nothing.
"There's Vojvoda," Pyetr said. "You could still go back, boy. Nothing you've done's so serious. You could lie to them. You don't have to tell them about helping me—"
Sasha shook his head no.
"Well," Pyetr said, nerving himself, "it can't be far to the river. One hopes."
But bending down then, Sasha took a little of their precious grain and poured it on a rock.
"Field-thing," Sasha said. "We're leaving. Thank you." And he stood and flung a little more, into the forest. "Forest, we're only walking through. We won't do any harm."
Pyetr shook his head. Probably, he thought, the only thing it made well-disposed to them was starving squirrels. But he added to Sasha's little offering a couple of precious grains from his own pocket, to please the boy, then flung another two or three at the thicket ahead of them and called aloud, feeling altogether like a fool:
"Forest, here come two desperate outlaws! We'll do you no harm, so do us none, and get us safely to the river!"
The wind shifted. What breathed out of the woods was colder than the meadow air.
"Small good that did," Pyetr muttered, caught his breath of that cold air, and limped ahead, saying: "Look out, devils."
"Don't joke," Sasha said. "Please don't joke, Pyetr Illitch. Don't you
know
what they say? Forests are the worst to meddle with."
"I don't know. I don't bother with such tales. They're not healthy."
"There's leshys, for one, that have their feet on backwards. We mustn't follow tracks. There's Forest-things that sing to you and you have to follow…"
"We follow the road," Pyetr said, setting his jaw. "We take nothing. We talk very politely to the devils and the Forest-things, and we keep walking and we pay no attention to singers in the trees, who are likely to be birds, if any live here."
"Deer should have eaten all the grain," Sasha
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