question. She had no idea what the limits of the leshys might be: she remembered th em visiting the hillside when s he was small—like walking trees in a very faint dream. Her parents said the oldest had once held her in his arms and first called her mouse. Her uncle said they were shy creatures, and shyer as time passed—but she had always trusted in them to keep harm away. She had no idea, now she thought of it, what the limits of a ghost might be against the Forest- t hings she had believed in so implicitly, or whether rusalka could even describe a young man, who said—
Said (though he had never spoken before) that he had not died by drowning.
She was well along the path to the river shore, in the shivery kind of fear he had begun to make in her, when she thought, Maybe he won't be there this time either. Maybe I broke some rule, finding out wh at kind of ghost he really is. Ghosts are supposed to follow rules. Maybe he can't come back now. —Or maybe mother wished something to banish him forever. Maybe I'll never see him again!
She hurried along, batting brush aside, through thickets that caught at her skirts, in an afternoon that, in the thick of the woods, seemed much farther along toward twilight than she had realized. There was shadow enough now to see a ghost, with the sun far below the trees, and the shade was deepening by the moment.
The path let out on the river well beyond the old ferry dock, at the place she had last seen him. She took the steep slope with now and again a catch at a leafy branch, right down to the marshy edge of the water, where rushes grew— careful there: she had no desire to come home to supper with wet feet.
She looked u p and down the shore, even looked up into the trees, in the thought of spotting Owl, who often came before him.
No more than this morning. She sighed; and felt a little chill down her back.
‘ Hello, ’ he said.
She turned on her heel and looked directly at his chest — up, quickly, into pale, misty-lashed eyes.
‘ Where were you this morning? ’ Fright made her entirely too sharp with him.
‘ Near. Near you last night, too, but you've so many guards.'' He touched her cheek with icy fingers, and put chill arms around her. ‘ Il yana. ’
Babi turned up in the kitchen, looking for tidbits in advance of supper. From the yard, Pyetr's saw ripped away at a board for the cellar trap, and from high on the hill, came an impression that Sasha was busy with his book: Eveshka listened no more deeply than that into other people's business, no matter her daughter's opinion.
In the same virtue she did not wonder where her daughter was, late as it was getting. Pyetr was right. There was no cause for alarm and she did not wish to know, or worry, or do any other thing that a rebellious young girl might construe as spying.
But after Babi had had his bits from the kitchen counter, and she said, ‘ Babi, where's Ilyana? ’ — then was time to worry, because Babi dropped his head onto small manlike paws, and made a despairing sound quite unlike Babi.
God, she did not like that.
So she went outside and called out to Pyetr over the noise of the saw: ‘ Where's Ilyana? ’
Pyetr stopped, straightened with a stretch of his back and wiped his brow. ‘ I don't know. Down by the stable. ’ He looked over his shoulder to see. But there was no Ilyana.
She had a worse and worse feeling. She looked up the hill toward Sasha's house, and saw Sasha get up from a seat on his porch and look—
Toward the river.
She had a dreadful impression then, of danger, of—
‘ Pyetr!'' she cried, and ran down the walk-up, across the yard, through the hedge and headlong down the slope to the ferry dock—
Past the gray, weathered boat, then, with a stitch in her side, off the dry boards of the dock and down the overgrown shoreline, fending her way through reeds and a thin screen of young birches.
Ilyana was standing there, wrapped in mist, two lovers, one mortal, one—
‘
Said (though he had never spoken before) that he had not died by drowning.
She was well along the path to the river shore, in the shivery kind of fear he had begun to make in her, when she thought, Maybe he won't be there this time either. Maybe I broke some rule, finding out wh at kind of ghost he really is. Ghosts are supposed to follow rules. Maybe he can't come back now. —Or maybe mother wished something to banish him forever. Maybe I'll never see him again!
She hurried along, batting brush aside, through thickets that caught at her skirts, in an afternoon that, in the thick of the woods, seemed much farther along toward twilight than she had realized. There was shadow enough now to see a ghost, with the sun far below the trees, and the shade was deepening by the moment.
The path let out on the river well beyond the old ferry dock, at the place she had last seen him. She took the steep slope with now and again a catch at a leafy branch, right down to the marshy edge of the water, where rushes grew— careful there: she had no desire to come home to supper with wet feet.
She looked u p and down the shore, even looked up into the trees, in the thought of spotting Owl, who often came before him.
No more than this morning. She sighed; and felt a little chill down her back.
‘ Hello, ’ he said.
She turned on her heel and looked directly at his chest — up, quickly, into pale, misty-lashed eyes.
‘ Where were you this morning? ’ Fright made her entirely too sharp with him.
‘ Near. Near you last night, too, but you've so many guards.'' He touched her cheek with icy fingers, and put chill arms around her. ‘ Il yana. ’
Babi turned up in the kitchen, looking for tidbits in advance of supper. From the yard, Pyetr's saw ripped away at a board for the cellar trap, and from high on the hill, came an impression that Sasha was busy with his book: Eveshka listened no more deeply than that into other people's business, no matter her daughter's opinion.
In the same virtue she did not wonder where her daughter was, late as it was getting. Pyetr was right. There was no cause for alarm and she did not wish to know, or worry, or do any other thing that a rebellious young girl might construe as spying.
But after Babi had had his bits from the kitchen counter, and she said, ‘ Babi, where's Ilyana? ’ — then was time to worry, because Babi dropped his head onto small manlike paws, and made a despairing sound quite unlike Babi.
God, she did not like that.
So she went outside and called out to Pyetr over the noise of the saw: ‘ Where's Ilyana? ’
Pyetr stopped, straightened with a stretch of his back and wiped his brow. ‘ I don't know. Down by the stable. ’ He looked over his shoulder to see. But there was no Ilyana.
She had a worse and worse feeling. She looked up the hill toward Sasha's house, and saw Sasha get up from a seat on his porch and look—
Toward the river.
She had a dreadful impression then, of danger, of—
‘ Pyetr!'' she cried, and ran down the walk-up, across the yard, through the hedge and headlong down the slope to the ferry dock—
Past the gray, weathered boat, then, with a stitch in her side, off the dry boards of the dock and down the overgrown shoreline, fending her way through reeds and a thin screen of young birches.
Ilyana was standing there, wrapped in mist, two lovers, one mortal, one—
‘
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