"Once, a long time ago, up high on a snowy white mountain, a great tsar lived in a shimmering palace, where the courtyards were summertime even in winter, and golden apples grew on the trees. But every night, while the castle was sleeping, a great fiery bird would [i]swoop[/i] down out of the sky, and [i]snatch[/i] one of the tsar's golden apples, and fly away on his great fiery wings -- [i]woosh ... woosh![/i] -- with the stolen, shimmering apple clutched tight in his claws."

Chiudka leaned forward in her chair til it creaked and threatened to topple her for the way she waved her arms and curled her fingers and [i]wooshed[/i] over her young audience, while the proper adults swung their pints and pretended to be better than legends and fairy tales. She cast a sly smile around the tavern -- and though she competed with a chorus of raucous song and several men chanting Adrian into yet another drink, she caught several ears turned her way.

Her father owned one of them, and Jaroslav another. He'd arrived alone and looking well, with a promise that Tjasa would follow him shortly. Probably perfecting her braids for the new hat that her grandmother had given her, Chiudka thought with a grin. Indeed, Gotsiana sat near the door with a new puppy her lap, and she leaned eagerly forward every time someone let in the snow, hoping Tjasa in her pretty hat would be swept in with it. Chiudka very seriously considered that Tjasa's late entrance was very much on purpose. She would be sorry for her grand entrance when she missed the best part of the story.

"Finally, one night the tsar had had just about [i]enough[/i] of that thieving fiery bird, and he called his three sons to him, and he said --"

[i]IT COMES![/i]

The door was open, and a blast of snowy air carried the shrill warning -- and though the voice clearly belonged to Nadeen, it wasn't a voice any of them had heard before.

Chiudka gathered her skirts and rose to her feet while the men pushed outside and the emptying tavern quickly grew chill. For a still, dark moment the seats were empty. The fire crackled. She took a step, and hurried with another, and suddenly the doorway was filled with familiar and weathered faces twisted so fearfully she didn't quite recognize them. Her first thought was [i]avalanche[/i], and her heart dropped into her stomach.

Viktor pushed children into her arms, and she hushed them and herded them gently toward the others. Everything would be all right, she whispered, the tavern was built of great blocks of stone to protect them. But that sound -- a skittering rumble, less like the roll of stone and snow, more like the hiss of leaves on a dark storm wind. Where was Tjasa?

She was frightened by proximity to the terror of strong men, but she was terribly curious to see what horror could cause their eyes to grow so wide. And Tjasa was still not among them. She pushed her way through the crowd, and the closer she got to the door and to the cold and to old Nadeen's screams, the harder she pushed. Stay there, Mama, she said, and she slipped past the push of people and stumbled out into the stifling snow.

Her breath clouded before her face, and she looked left. She saw Vasily's silhouette, guiding Nadeen, quiet now, back toward her cottage. Good. Good. Another breath billowed, and she looked right, and in the swirls of snow she saw a familiar shape. In one breath there was relief and an urgent fear: "[i]Tjasa![/i]" Chiudka gathered her skirts and sprinted, kicking away the snow. In the corner of her eye, something dark was approaching.

Chiudka nearly crashed into Tjasa and grasped the girl's arm in both her chilled hands. "Hurry, we have to go, come on!" And then, through the white billows of their breath, she followed Tjasa's gaze.

It wasn't real. Her eyes were playing tricks on her, making her see things that couldn't exist. It was a dream, a nightmare, a terrible fever that she would wake from at any moment. But even in her dream, she squeezed her dear niece's arm and barreled through the snowdrifts for the tavern, just as she heard the echo of a door shut tight.