- Calm down, comrade captain - Colonel Zakharchenko already said in an orderly manner - no one will help your friend now, no matter how, no one will help. He is in enemy territory. It remains to hope that the Germans will not get to him - he continued more calmly - Go to the subdivision and choose at your discretion what is known to you, according to my permission. You need a slave for the time of our offensive on Minsk - and he, raising his voice, said to Anikanov - And no objections! Understand me captain!

- Comrade Colonel - almost turned, and Anikanov wanted to leave the staff dugout, as he turned back to Colonel Zakharchenko - Dmitry and I were fighting friends. And I can't leave it like that.

“I understand you, captain,” Colonel Zakharchenko, already standing at the table with a card, told him. “I know about your battle friendship.” But war is war and nothing to dismiss the nurses! Follow the company and no questions asked! - he commanded Anikanov - Attention! All around And march to Roth!

***

She stood by the high wicker wickerwork of her swamp hunting farm. She stood and listened to a distant machine-gun shooting, there, on the outskirts of her forest in the direction of the village behind her forest swamp. Somewhere far from her, this closed to the world by other uninvited guests of the world, there was another world. World of War. War came to these ancient lands. And somewhere there now, on the outskirts of the swamp, hiding behind birch trees and pines, was her twin. Her second gray ghostly shadow of a wolf. She searched the swamps in search of a fallen pilot. She always did this standing at the wicker fence of her island Wolf Farm. She always did this before appearing herself.

She stood and looked at the place where machine-gun shots were heard, and the whistle of bullets was heard. Young woman. Unusual woman in old Russian dress and kokoshnik. With a long dark blond thick wicker scythe she stood at the very fence of her swamp farm. Where besides her there was no one. Flashing yellow wolf burning eyes of fire.

For many years, there has been no one here. No one dared to be here without her knowledge. She was the keeper of this swamp. And no one could get here, not knowing the way to this swamp farm of a wild swamp wolf.

But he fell straight from the sky into her protected area, and she wanted to know who he was. Her mistress and the mother of all werewolves pointed at him. The goddess of this forest, who lives in a large ancient tree, is only a black shadow. She said it was her fate. This is the one who belongs only to her. He was pointed out by her father Voltor, a huge forest and the most powerful wolf. She Agues, his firstborn daughter with her daughter Agella, was obliged to obey their will.

The forest mother called him her son. His man. And he intended her and her daughter. For the sake of ancestral flock.

This place was closed to guests, as well as for the one that fell to it from the sky itself. He fell in front of her eyes, on an island in the middle of a practically impassable swamp in the forest. He sank on white like a cloud

a strange dome flying through the air, and lay dying on that swampy little island. Uninvited guest, he fell down to her from the sky.

And he caught her attention.

Now he was in her house. In a big house in the middle of the Wolf Farm. She took off all his clothes and awards. For a long time looking at her and not understanding how it can be worn. Especially the headset and glasses. Then

a tablet and a note, examining posthumous pencil scribbles from a shaking weakened right hand. His is that chemical pencil. She took everything from that island with him. And he now lay in her dwelling under an old linen bedspread on pillows full of down and down feather beds.An old wood-burning stove burned in the house, and its smoke spread throughout the marsh. She looked at him sitting opposite, and did not lower her girls' wolf eyes. The eye of his another twin. She looked at his young, still young face. His human over the top lay his lying hands. His young boy of twenty-nine.

He fell with a falling big bird flying and shooting a burning fire, which, having lost its wings, fell into its deep forest marsh.

This she had not seen before, so close.

She did not know who he was, this man. His strange clothes and all that was with him. Well, maybe not stranger than those she saw before him. But she

only knew that he was dying, and for some reason she needed to help him. Help survive. So wanted her mother Goddess of the forest.

He wanted to live and she saw it. He was very young, and that was what was needed. And he herself liked it. Standing behind the broad trunk of a birch tree, she looked at him. I looked through the eyes of the double under the whistle of bullets beating against the trunks of marsh birch and pine trees. I looked at first, not daring to go. Carefully watching his movements. She studied him and understood that he was wounded. He was in the blood. In the blood of his almost killed leg in half. She breathed into him part of her wolf life. Through its bite and saliva wolf. She wanted to.

She used to kill someone she hunted, but now there was something else. She wanted to give life. The life of the one whom the Forest Mother chose to continue the wolf kind.

She is a she-wolf. She is the mistress of these places. And he will now be like her. He will be grateful for her life saved. After all, he wanted to live. They will create a wolf family here in these swamps. She had wanted her mother and father for so long, and her relatives, brothers and sisters, would have known her for a long time.

She wanted to leave these lands and move closer to her relatives deep into the territory, but she could not leave these swamps where she was born. Even because of this war. Because of the explosions and rumble there somewhere far from its swamps and forests. No, I could not. She must protect her reserved places from all uninvited guests and enemies. She knows at a distance who is her friend and who is the enemy. For hundreds of years, you can learn a lot. And now she will protect him. He belongs to her now. She baptized him by herself and turned him into a wolf, like herself. And all who come here, or begin to hunt it, will pay with their lives. She knows that she will, and she is ready for whatever happens.

She stood and looked in the dark and saw everything. Everything is in the depths of its swamp forest. I looked to the place where an ambush was preparing for her and him. After crawling away the black and evil machine from the edge of the swamp, spitting fire and rattling all its forest and those people with shooting sticks in gray long robes and iron hats on their heads on the same iron horses.

She knew that these were evil people and not hers. They came from the west to her native land. It was they who brought this grief and war here.

She saw standing because of the big bowed birch on those who were waiting in ambush in high weeds, who had come after the booming car spatting fire with some more already in black clothes. The same as on that policeman, whom she recently nibbled on her swamp with a white bandage on the sleeve "In the service of the Wehrmacht." She, recently in the morning, has torn one in her in the swamp and his hands are still gnawed by the wolf's teeth, lying behind her house on the Wolf Farm. This one asked for mercy and was drowning in the swamp. But she was not at all sorry for him. She felt he was angry. Angry and very bad person. She killed him and ate when she was a wolf. They sat and looked at her swamp and thought, probably, that they were not visible in the tall grass. In vain they thought so. She saw them all. She felt their evil. They wanted her evil world. And she instinctively felt it. She felt them and felt who they were and what they wanted. She understood what they needed. They needed him. The one who lay in her swamp. That fallen man from the sky, who lay near her farm on a swamp island.

She put her young girl's hands over the twigs of the wattle fence and, still looking towards the forest, turned in the dark, flashing ... Read more →