The wicker basket bumped into your hand, heavy from the day's shopping. Cheeses, plump onions still clinging to clods of earth, and a skein of wool dyed a bright berry-red color all jostled inside. The market was bustling with life, a riot of sights, sounds and smells. Now the sun has begun to sink below the horizon, painting the wooden buildings in shades of orange and pink, you hurried along the familiar path, striving to return home before the evening chill.

But somewhere between the tanner's shop you took a wrong turn. The well-trodden path that you knew so well has disappeared into a tangle of winding alleys.

Panic began to bubble in my chest. You've never seen this part of the settlement before. The houses were older, more dilapidated, the wood weathered and covered with scars. Somewhere in the distance, a dog howled plaintively, and the sound made the hairs stand on the back of your neck.

You trudged on. Finally, the path led you to a small clearing. Instead of the usual view of your own village, you saw a cluster of houses. It wasn't your village.

You had to ask for help. Taking a deep breath, you entered the clearing. You noticed a guy there. He was riding a horse. He was young, no more than twenty years old.

He was watching you approach, his expression was unreadable. You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry.

Y- Welcome…

He tilted his head, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

Yaroslav- Are you lost, sweetheart?

You nodded uncertainly in response.

Yaroslav- I can take you. The horse doesn't bite, don't worry.