Here's another little snippet of my current writing project for y'all to look at. Let me know what you think.
Mila was the wife of Nika, and a fine wife she was, round-cheeked and plump, bright of eye and fair of face. Nika had spent years looking for such a wife, and on the day he was wed to Mila, he was the happiest man in Khadya. He took his young wife and they moved to the north, to the land where his brother, Slava, raised radishes and rye. True, the farm was close to the Malevolence, but the village had raised many a mighty warrior to deal with the monsters from the wastelands.
Nika served his terms with the warriors, fighting the monsters from the Malevolence. And one fine spring, no more monsters came, and the warriors drank vodka and rejoiced.
Mila was a good wife, and was hanging up the wash one fine spring day when she thought she saw, against the whiteness of the sheet, the shadow of a Lissa, a foxish monster from the North, full of wickedness and killing spite, but when she turned, she saw nothing but an old woman, grey of hair and dull of eye, holding a basket.
"Might I have some bread?" asked the old woman. "For I am hungry and have had little."
"We do not have much," replied Mila. "In fact we are on our last loaf. But I will share with you, because you have asked it of me." And she took the old woman inside and and cut a slab of good, dark bread and watched as the old woman ate it.
"Thank you, good wife," said the old woman. "I fear I can give you little in thanks but this." And she reached into her basket and pulled out a half-dozen goose eggs, white and fair and round.
"Indeed, thank you, old woman," exclaimed Mila, delighted. "For this is far more fair than that which I have given to you."
"It is not," replied the old woman. And she went away directly. That evening, when Nika came home he was somber of face and serious of eye.
"Beware, my wife," he said. "For a farmer was missing two laying geese this morning. It may be that there are Kotten in the village." And Mila was afraid, for the Kotten were crafty and sly and stole that which was most dear to a person.
The next morning dawned wet and rainy, the wind cold and lashed the rain against the small house. And Mila lit the fire and stayed indoors. Near the middle of the day, she thought she heard the shrill yapping of a Lissa, but when she looked out the window, she saw nothing but the old woman, carrying her basket.
"May I come in and warm myself by your fire?" asked the old woman. "For I am cold and wet clear through."
"We do not have much wood," replied Mila. "But I will throw another log on the fire, because you have asked it of me." And she let the old woman inside, and sat with her while she dried herself before the fire.
"Thank you, good wife," said the old woman. "I fear I can give you little in thanks but this." And she reached into her basket and pulled out a muff made from fine lambs wool.
"Indeed, thank you, old woman," exclaimed Mila, delighted. "For this is far more fair a gift than I have given to you."
"It is not," replied the old woman. And she went away again. When Nika came home again, he was serious of face and reflective of eye.
"Beware, my wife," he said. "For a farmer was missing two of his prize lambs this morning. It may be that there are Yolven in the village." And Mila was afraid, for the Yolven were brutal killers and took joy in slaying all that was weak and helpless, not for fear of the warriors, but in sheer cruelty.
The next morning was neither fair, nor foul, only grey and grey and grey. No rain fell, but nor did sunshine. And Mila was a good wife, and was weeding in the garden when she thought she smelled the stench of the Lissa, but when she turned to look, she saw nothing but the old woman and her basket.
"May I have a glass of coffee?" asked the old woman. "For I am thirsty, and have had naught but water."
"We do not have much left," replied Mila. "But I will brew you a cup, because you have asked it of me." And she brought the old woman inside, and sat with her while she drank the rich, dark coffee.
"Thank you, good wife," said the old woman. "I fear I can give you little in thanks but this." And she reached into her basket and pulled out a wrapped bottle of vodka, clear and strong.
"Indeed, thank you, old woman," exclaimed Mila, delighted. "For this is far more fair a gift than I have given to you."
"It is not," replied the old woman. And she left the house and went on her way. When Nika came home that night, he was grieven of face, and sorrowful of eye.
"Be wary, oh, my wife," he said. "For a farmer was slain this morning. There may be Medved in the village." And Mila was afraid, for the Medved are strong and fierce and have hated men since there were men and Medved to hate them.
And on the next morning, the sun was wan and pale, and did little to warm the cold and wet ground. And Mila was afraid, for she thought she felt the presence of the Lissa. But when she opened the door, she saw again the old woman and her basket.
"Will you walk with me a while, good wife," asked the old woman. "For we have long been friends and I have need of your company."
"I have many things I must do today, before my husband returns," replied Mila. "But I will walk with you a ways, because we have long been friends, and you have asked it of me."
And they walked, how far none can say, but as they walked through places of light and places of darkness, Mila turned and saw her companion was no longer old and bent, but tall, and straight and fair of face. And they walked more, through places of darkness and places of blackness, and Mila turned and saw that her companion was no longer fair of face, but long and bloodstained of muzzle, and sharp of tooth and claw.
"Ai!" cried Mila. "You are the Lissa!"
"I am," said the Lissa. "And you are my friend. Three times you accepted from me gifts worth far more than that which you gave, and three times you were told from where they came. Now, my friend, I have come to bring you home." And Mila turned and looked and saw the Malevolence before them. And she wept and knew that it was so.