“No,” said Vasya in horror. “No, I didn’t mean it.” Without thinking she knelt, put her hand on his head. “I am sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I am sorry.”

He stopped turning gray. She realized she was crying. She hadn’t realized how deep the last days’ violence had gone inside her, hadn’t realized that it was still inside her, coiled up, ready to lash out in terror and rage. “Forgive me,” she said.

The chyert blinked his red eyes. He breathed. He was not dying. He looked more real than he had a moment ago. His broken body had knitted itself.

“Why did you do that?” asked the mushroom.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” said Vasya. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “I never meant to hurt anyone.” She was shaking in every limb. “But you’re right. I did—I did…”

“You—” The mushroom was examining his cloudy-gray arm with puzzlement. “You gave me your tears.”

Vasya shook her head, struggling to speak. “For my horse,” she managed. “For my sister. Even for Morozko.” She scrubbed at her eyes, tried to smile. “A little for you.”

Ded Grib stared at her solemnly. In silence, Vasya struggled to her feet and set about preparing for the night.

SHE WAS ARRANGING FIREWOOD on a bare patch of ground, when the mushroom-spirit spoke again, half-hidden in a leaf-pile. “For Morozko, you said. Are you looking for the winter-king?”

“Yes,” said Vasya at once. “I am. If you don’t know where he is, do you know who might?” The Bear’s words—his freedom for your life—beat at the back of her skull. Why had he done it? Why? And a deeper memory still, Morozko’s voice saying, As I could, I—

Her firewood was stacked in a neat open square, with kindling laid between the bigger branches. As she spoke, she was arranging pine-needles for tinder.

“Midnight knows,” said Ded Grib. “Her realm touches every midnight that ever was. But I doubt she’ll tell you. As to who else might know—” Ded Grib paused, obviously thinking hard.

“Are you helping me?” Vasya asked in surprise. She sat back on her heels.

Ded Grib said, “You gave me tears and a flower. I will follow you, and not the Bear. I am first.” He puffed out his chest.

“First to what?”

“To take your side.”

“My side in what?” asked Vasya.

“What do you think?” replied Ded Grib. “You denied both the winter-king and his brother, didn’t you? You made yourself a third power in their war.” He frowned. “Or are you going to find the winter-king to join his side?”

“I am not sure what difference it makes,” said Vasya. “All these questions of sides. I want to find the winter-king because I need his help.” That was not the entire reason, but she was not about to explain the rest of it to the mushroom-spirit.

Ded Grib waved this away. “Well, even if he does join your side, I will always have been first.”