There was nothing unusual in her request, Virita loved horseback riding, and her father allowed her this innocent entertainment. And he didn’t even insist on accompaniment if the daughter did not leave the meadows and copses adjacent to the estate and covered with security charms.
The chestnut accepted the usual offering – a thick round carrot that had withered over the winter – and snorted contentedly in the hostess’s face. The groom lifted him into the saddle, and Virita, as if inadvertently looking back at her father’s windows – no, she’s not looking! – she let her pet go at a light trot. She took a deep breath, catching the wind on her face. It smelled of river mud and meadow grass, young leaves and apple blossoms. Freedom. As soon as you had the strength not to break into a gallop, while the horse and rider could be seen from the windows of your home!
And only then – I didn’t hold back. There was little time – an hour, maybe two, and they would catch on.
She was lucky. Or maybe it was the higher power to which the girl hurried for help that helped. Having rushed unnoticed through the lands of del Bornio, leaving aside a large village near the highway and a mill near the river, Virita stopped her horse at the edge of the Deer Log. She sobbed and whispered in a broken voice:
– Here, Kashtan… I don’t know where to go next. Maybe you know?
The faithful horse turned around and snorted, as if wanting to say: “Mistress, who have you confused me with? With a professor of geosciences from the capital's university? Or maybe with an elf mercenary?
– Oh, yes, what’s there! – Virita shook her head, closed her eyes for a moment, deciding to do the unheard of. She took a pouch with wild wheat grains from her purse, shook half of it into her palm and, swinging it wide, threw it to the side of the path. – Accept the gift, Oleniy Log!
Following this, half a flask of wine was donated to the forest. And finally, the most difficult thing – closing her eyes again, the girl slashed her palm with a dagger. Large drops stained the grass.
– Accept the gift, Deer Log, show the way to the Altar! – Wrapping her hand in a handkerchief, Virita touched the horse.
Without a path, at random, but the forest really led me where I asked. The sunset glow gave way to deep twilight, and the light birch and thick hazel trees gave way to gloomy centuries-old spruce trees, when Chestnut, snoring and spinning his ears, stepped into a perfectly round clearing, in the center of which stood a white stone… pedestal untouched by time? Table? Or just a stove? For some reason, the longer Virita looked, the less she understood what exactly she was seeing. A white stone in the purple twilight of the night – there is nothing more to say.