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[indent][indent]“We write of what we know; and for those who want to understand, we say, we bear witness to all that we have seen as we journeyed our path.  He Himself has declared: ‘If a man does not abide in Me, he is cast out as a branch; and men gather it, and cast it into the fire, and it is burned.  If he abides in Me, I abide in him’ (cf. John 15:5-6). The sun cannot shine without light;  nor can the heart be cleansed of the stain of destructive thoughts without invoking the name of Jesus. This being the case we should use that name as we do our own breath.  For that name is light, while evil thoughts are darkness; it is God and Master, while evil thoughts are slaves and demons.”

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[color=gray]Off-colored tents propped along the snow and settled their differences in various tones with sturdy posts and bearings. The noise between and inside them was boisterous and lavish in their makings and attempted to resuscitate such an impact of recollections -- that even during the quietest moments of this Host’s journeys, there is a commanding tune that still marches them onwards and never leaves their air,even if only heard amongst the Host and nothing more. A shame would be cast upon the Host if it was only noticed by them and nothing more, and for so great of a pride, it is hoped and wished that the animals and other creatures along the path might as well be in knowledge of this sound. It is even believed, even if a silent statement only thought through the minds and never vocally, that this song is the true leader of Zaporizhzhya. No other evey shall be able to deflect the triumphant march, unless of course, such a Will was granted from above.

There was a time when Annushka might have only fantasized such a scene. It would have been much more mystical and spectacular than what lie in front of her. However, it seemed to be a shame to think that the truth was anything less beautiful than a make believe realm. Her spirits had been lower than the temperature for quite some time, but she thought nothing more of it than a stoic woman trying to brave in a world that mostly only the masculine rummaged in their bravery and rivalry. Her daintier features were showing underneath all the garments that kept her warm from the Mother Land’s natural defenses. They were boasting in rosy colored cheeks and a broken heart that she could not hide when the truth was so abundantly cherished amongst the brethren that stood around her.

Safety was kept on her hilt, feeling the mushroom headed pommel cusp into the cushions guarding her calloused palms. She thought to join the small festivities and boast in the grandiose expenditures of having safely completed another day’s honor, but the temptation to remain seated and sour kept her position still. A human was allowed to mourn the deceased, and yet she could not help but think of the hopelessness that was plaguing her. Perhaps, it was that she had no such useful tools that could help her mourn properly, and stubbornly she refused to ask for any help. At least, she knew, tonight, when all were resting, her silent tribute could make its offering for relief of such misery.  

Doubts had been clouding her judgement, though. Days perhaps even more than days, leading up to his death, Annushka had found herself mourning the loss of something. Whatever it was that she had lost, she had forgotten of what it was. The feeling had been mocking her, and in such a desperate attempt to flee its gluttonous snares, she was feeling overtly shamefaced repentant about a deceased man who never truly loved her. No, she could never admit that he never truly loved her, and with that thought, her demons laid waiting for her to venture further into the darkness, only to be interrupted by a harolding sound.

The sound came as the victorious word growling in jest from their leader, which turned Annushka’s attention with eyes widening to study the mirth of the large man, swifting and prodding his body closer to where she resided, albeit lazy in her young, harsh years she felt, with the jossle of his dark boot against the bark underneath her. [color=silver]“Annushka! I certainly welcome the clarity of a frozen winter evening but I do not think [i]Marena[/i] needs any help tonight in bringing us a chill!”[/color]The power from his movement awoke her mood, stirring the dark clouds hovering around her juxtaposition. [color=silver]“So, How are you holding up after the day’s Journey?”[/color]

Sturdily she responded in kind to his joke, [color=white]“Fair.”[/color] Although, she used the word [i]prekrasnyy[/i] as opposed to [i]bespristrastnyy.[/i] With the light, mocking word, she raised her head, tilting it upwards towards him, to study his large frame as she withdrew the satisfaction of his commanding recruitment of her. The padded knuckles that evenly gripped her [i]shashka[/i] slid to her lap, motioning over her belt and satchel, [color=white]“Sit, please,”[/color] her eyes glanced down at his boot, remarking silently to herself about the wear that stained them with use and long travels, and suddenly they were staring back at the Hetman, who’s large, gray mustache was dangling passed his chin. Although, not one to formally refer to himself with such allegiance, Annushka had hard learned habits that needed revisiting and correcting. This was one that would have to come later. She had other demons to slay, and she was certain that she was correct in knowing that the Hetman and she were on the same page about this.  They both agreed she was out of line, but he had faith in her yet.

As for Annushka, she saw him as the light at the end of the darkness that kept trying to pull her further into its depths. If she remained with the Zaporochian, she could free herself from the despairing girdles that kept haunting her daily and nightly, unceasingly. Tomorrow should be a jubilant time after the Abbot would hear her story. There was always fear in repeating what she knew. It lingered constantly inside of her. The bellows of Dmitri caused these ghostly feelings to flee from time-to-time, but with the time so close, they clung to her with more perseverance, now. She felt stronger still next to Dmitry, even if the weariness from all the penance was beginning too heavy of a burden to carry. 

Howeverbeit, she understood that idolatry was on her list of things to not let slip her mind during the Sacrament of tomorrow. It was hard not to hold such admiration for the aged man. His youthful spirits were magnificient, and like an illusionist, he made the depths of her wallows seem shallow and easy to navigate. There was much more respect for him that she wanted to offer, but for now, she could only pathetically think of him as the Hetman. He was nothing more than aligned with the [i]Sich Rada,[/i] but he seemed so much more as than a [i]Sich[/i]. She believed this was the very nature of the Zaporizhzhya Army. There was an honor that could not be shaken by even the deepest, darkest winters nor the heaviest and highest mountains. She saw this first hand and heard it secondhand from tales, legends, and historical accounts. 

She was still lost on many of the details, which blundered her, even now, with Dmitry standing afoot over her in his brusque, bearish form. His eyes were sharp, but for her, they offered a sense of assurety and protection.  There was still discernment yet to be made on what these things would mean for her. Time would unveil these truths, and Annushka hoped, the beauty of them would lead her from the misery that continued to blaspheme and spit upon the paths that she had tread. There was no use for self-pity in such a gorging manner. Annyu had no stomach for it, either, unlike Dmitry who made his appearance as a man who could stomach the worst, even more than the Queen, whom Annushka defined as fiendish for having such an appetite… Her own weak will had wavered at the odious thoughts left for the Tsarina. 

It was agreed within multiple parts of her that she was very weak and easily swaded. However, Annyu knew that admitting aloud anything of her weakness would be too detrimental to her current status -- a custom she had long since been trying to recover since leaving her hometown. Tomorrow, after the noon time, she would be able to wear it, again, but this time, she hoped she would wear it with more humility and patience, and no longer would she feel ashamed to think that the gifts that had been given her were hers to throw away. How could she with a man like Dmitry Krepchenko?

[color=white]“And the [i]kulish.[/i] How is it?”[/color] She shifted from her spot, making room for wherever he decided to plant himself. She was not entirely sure but making a small guess did no such harm that she could forsee aside from offer him a better place for a more comfortable purpose. She continued her talking, not awaiting his reply with another pause as she had when answering his own inquiry, [color=white]“Tomorrow night, I’ll help your cooks. They are the hardest workers, I am sure,” [/color]  She made a small laugh from her abdomen, forcing what pain she felt to make use of itself. Her loneliness was showing, but at least, in all the darkness, there some sort of light being used through all the murky feelings, as off-beaten and foul as they were. The Hosts were following a stringent course of actions and stepping out was becoming harder and harder. Such a feat was nothing that shook Annushka away from them. If anything, it drew her closer, like the snow that yearned to fall from the sky and to the ground.  She prayed to keep such a relationship prosperous. Each ash of her sin that was collected along their journey, she prayed would become crumbs of [i]Zvya'toy Khleb,[/i] blessed enough for even the wild boars to consume along their way to Paradise.[/color]