The next morning, Alina stepped out onto the porch. The air was cool and smelled of spring herbs. At the gate, the village elder, Arel Arlov, was already waiting. He leaned on his carved staff, bowed slightly, and said:

  — Good morning, Alina. Today, your journey begins.

  They walked along a village path, winding through blooming wildflowers. The elder spoke:

  — Here in Solovyevo, everyone knows everyone. There aren’t many people, but each one carries a story.

  He paused and looked down the street.

  — That’s Volchek’s house, near the forest. A quiet, brooding young man — but kind. He’s thirty. Carves wooden toys and feeds a tame owl that visits each evening. His parents sit on the porch all day long, arguing over which girl he should marry — but he just smirks and walks into the woods.

  Alina imagined him in a dusty shirt, a woodchip between his teeth, and an owl on his shoulder.

  — Over there lives Voronev. Big beard, loud laugh, six children, songs and strong tinctures by the fire. His wife, Chaikava, is as silent as a still lake. She cleans up after him and raises the children with quiet strength — her eyes, like seagulls’ wings.

  — And who else? — Alina asked, gently holding the lavender leaf in her palm.

  — Filina. You’ll stay with her next. Tall, strong arms, building her own house. Her husband forgot long ago how to be a man. She bakes the best pastries in the region — even when she’s hurting, she bakes with soul. She has a daughter too — just as stubborn as her mother.

  They walked further, and in the morning light, a garden came into view — glowing herbs swayed gently in the breeze.

  — And here’s Listkov, — the elder said quietly. — A seer. Light as air, almost invisible. His grandmother was a witch, and he inherited her house — and her books, potions, and ravens. He speaks with them. With herbs too.

  Alina absorbed every word — this world pulsed with life, and each villager felt like a piece of a forgotten fairytale.

  At the edge of the forest, they stopped.

  — Here begins the path to the Leshy. Don’t be afraid. He’s expecting you.

  Alina nodded. Holding the lavender tightly, she stepped into the woods. It wasn’t silent — it breathed. The trees swayed slightly, and their rustling sounded like whispers.

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  A shadow moved. And then — he appeared.

  The Leshy.

  Tall, thin, wearing a mossy tunic, leaves in his beard. His eyes were like tree bark: deep, calm, patient.

  — Alina, — he said, as if he had known her all her life. — Come. The forest welcomes you.

  He led her to his home — not quite a house, but a doorway built into a giant oak. Inside, the floor was covered in soft moss, walls of bark surrounded them, and in the corner, a cauldron bubbled with something fragrant. The air smelled of pine and honey.

  — Do you want to know what the forest is? — he asked. — It’s not just trees. It’s the memory of the earth.

  He gave her a small flat stone etched with runes.

  — This is a footprint. From a beast that passed here a hundred years ago. We remember it.

  All day long, he showed her the woods. Trees that whispered to each other, glowing roots, mushrooms that hummed at dawn. He handed her a slingshot that fired beams of sunlight. She listened wide-eyed.

  — Why do you live alone? — she asked over tea made from pine needles and cones.

  — The forest is my kin, — he said simply. — But now, you’re not alone either. Solovyevo is part of you. And you are part of it.

  Before she left, he handed her a pouch of moss.

  — If you ever get lost — breathe this. The forest will find you.

  ????

  Just as Alina was about to leave, she heard a voice from the edge of the clearing:

  — No, she’ll be mine, — something gurgled, like from a swamp.

  In the meadow stood a girl with bright blue eyes and a daisy crown. Three figures surrounded her: another Leshy (with an owl’s eye), a Water Spirit, and a Bog Dweller with willow-root arms.

  — She’s beautiful, — said the Leshy.

  — And strong, — added the Bog Dweller.

  — I’ll drag her into the depths, — purred the Water Spirit.

  Alina stepped forward, ready to stop them, but the girl suddenly laughed.

  — Oh, you fools… I don’t love any of you! I don’t even believe in magic!

  A stunned silence fell.

  Then — all three burst into laughter.

  — What a spirit! — the Leshy slapped his chest.

  — Seems like the tale played a trick on us, — muttered the Bog Dweller.

  Soon, they were sitting by the fire, debating who grilled fish better. The blue-eyed girl wove flower crowns.

  — You from the village? — she asked Alina.

  — Yes, staying with Grandma Nadezhda.

  — Then stay here for dinner!

  So Alina found herself dining with a Leshy, Water Spirit, and Bog Dweller. They ate mushroom cakes, shared strange old jokes (surprisingly funny), and even Kikimora arrived with a samovar and apple jam.

  ?? Later, at Grandma Nadezhda’s

  Alina returned with a basket full of mushrooms, berries, and two flower crowns. She smelled of smoke and laughter.

  Nadezhda met her at the porch:

  — To dine with three suitors and return whole — now that’s a skill.

  Alina shrugged:

  — They’re not bad. Just a little… lost.

  Nadezhda chuckled:

  — Sometimes a fairytale just waits for someone who doesn’t believe — and only then does it begin to work.

  The tea was fragrant, the pie still warm.

  — So, little one, — said Nadezhda. — Managed with the Leshy?

  — He taught me to listen to the trees, — Alina replied.

  — Tomorrow you go to Filina. Strong hands, soft heart. Her daughter’s your age — maybe you’ll become friends.

  — And after that? — Alina asked.

  — Then to Volchek. Quiet soul. Carves animals from wood. Loves silence. Maybe you’ll find your own voice in that quiet.

  Alina nodded.

  — No need to try, — Nadezhda said. — Just be. The world will call when it’s time.

  The sunset crept through the windows. Shadows stretched long across the floor. And in the air — the scent of pastry and something just a little bit magical.