Page Two
The young woman shivered in the unbearable cold. She opened
her eyes. Instead of the water she expected to see, she saw a great white
forest spread out under mountains.
A low rumble drew her attention to a red speck at the edge
of the forest. Although she did not move, the forest slid at dizzying speed
toward the young woman until the red ox and the tall trees halted before her,
close enough that she could reach out her arm and touch them. The young woman
tried to do so, but a nearby white pine turned around, showing itself to be not
a tree at all.
The cloak was of pure white. Pine needles clothed what
appeared to be a dark, rigid trunk. The unforgettable face emerged from the
shadows, along with arms like a man and the claws of some other beast entirely.
“That’s my red ox,” the young woman said to the strange
figure. “I must bring it home.”
“I am Death,” the figure said. Its voice howled as the wind
blew. “The ox has wandered too far. It now belongs to me, as it has come to my
land.”
The young woman shivered. “Please. Let me take the ox home.
Mother and Father expect me to bring our ox to the feast we are to have when I
return.”
“Go back to them,” Death said. “You linger too long in my
domain.”
“Please, I need the ox,” she begged.
Death studied the young woman. “What would you give me to
spare your ox?”
“I bring firewood, young switches, and dried flowers to the
old man on the other side of the mountain,” the young woman recalled. “I could
bring you more.”
“I have no need of fire, nor of young twigs,” Death said,
“but perhaps the flowers of your cheeks would be a fair trade for the red ox.”
“I have no flowers in my satchel. I will have to pick you
some,” the young woman said.
“No, Matryoshka, the bright red of your cheeks are better
than dried flowers.”
“No,” the young woman said.
“Anything else!”
Death and the ox slid away from the young woman until they
were mere specks along a receding forest. The mountains, too, grew smaller with
distance.
The young woman gasped and opened her eyes again. Beside her
roared the river, freed of its winter cloak, and behind her a pair of damp,
fleshy arms tugged the young woman up the slight banks. A man’s breath labored
close to her soaked hair.
The tugging stopped, and the young woman fell as the man
also collapsed.
OR
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