Chapter 1

The sloping edge, lurking in the depths of a virgin forest, covered with fern and blueberry bushes, seemed to just emerge from the Russian folk tale, and if one went deep into the midwood, one would suddenly stumble on a lopsided wooden hut of Baba Yaga on the chicken legs. People said about such places that leshy would break a leg, as there was a solid windbreak. In the depth of taiga, there were few things that reminded of the presence of civilised people. Only occasionally, one could hear the roar of jet engines, coming from the sky, and the heavy crackle of rotating propellers of the flying helicopters with hunters. And the rest remained unchanged as many centuries ago. This was the domain of Mother Nature with its own rules and laws.

Wet ground hovered, absorbing the warmth established by the weather. But even the ubiquitous sunny spring rays could not break through the thick veil of centenary giants, whose dense branching crowns propped up the firmament. Hiding in the twilight shadows and being inaccessible to the ravage of the sun, there were the pitiful remnants of the passing winter – grey slush. But spring was taking its toll. From day to day, the sun was burning harder and harder and the air was making people drunk with the intoxicating aroma of the vegetation, waking up from hibernation. Taiga was waking up. On the blue sky, the snow-white flocks of swirling clouds slowly floated, lazily driven by the light spring breeze. They were reflected on the rough surface of the mountain river, like ghostly shadows. The young osier-bed, which was close to the river, enthusiastically began to make a noise. Playful breeze fell upon flexible branches as if trying to flirt with tiny green leaves hatched out of swollen buds. In the grass, whose sharp-pointed shoots triumphantly made their way from the heated soil, grasshopper excitedly chattered, rejoicing at the arrival of early spring. The shrill chorus of ubiquitous flies echoed him, having settled on the bright blossoming buds of spring flowers that emitted a fragrant aroma. All the valley, adjacent to the river, resembled a procumbent orange carpet, woven from Siberian globeflowers – the first flowers of taiga. As soon as the first snow melted, Siberian globeflowers, caressed by the warmth of the sun, jumped out of the ground, happily spreading lush buds. The forest was delightfully ringing, getting rid of hibernation, filled with happiness and life.

Suddenly, the heedless din stopped and the air got filled with breathless expectation. The jay screamed shrilly, alarmed by the emergence of an experienced predator, but calmed down then, seeing nothing dangerous in his presence. The heavy voice of taiga crow echoed her. The vole flashed by, like a grey shadow, and took refuge in its hole. Frightened by the cry of the feathered watch, speckled grouses took wing from the ground and sat on a nearby pine, like bunches, twisting the sides of their heads with bewilderment.

From the side of the thick bush, surrounding the clearing like an impenetrable hedge, one could hear a faint rustle and a muffled snort. The broken branch creaked loudly, warning of something big and terrifying, the honeysuckle bushes parted and a seasoned she-bear came into the clearing, warily looking around. She looked like an armed spring, ready to act immediately. Her muscles were tense and showed up under the ruffled skin like relief mounds. She suspiciously looked around the surrounding area, sniffing the subtle scents, listened with her ears standing upright, trying to identify the lurking danger with sensitive hearing. But, having not detected any threat, she uttered a muffled roar. And as if on cue, a small brown ball rolled out of the tall grass. Bear-cub promptly ran into the mother and clumsily fell on his back, funnily waving his short, thick pads in an unsuccessful attempt to rise. She-bear gently pushed the blunderer with her pad and, having turned a somersault through the head, he ridiculously stretched out on the abdomen, confusedly looking around. But confusion quickly passed, bear-cub quickly jumped on his pads and tottered to his mother, playfully biting her fur on her abdomen and being under her pads. She-bear stopped and, busily sniffing the brown climbing stem with yellow stains on the broad leaves, began to dig. She pulled out a rough tuber with the shaggy skin of the size of a potato, hidden deep in the ground, brushed away the adhering dirt, and plunged her teeth into a juicy pulp with a satisfied rumbling. The plant was nothing but the root of life – batata, which would stimulate digestion after a long winter hibernation. Being pleased, she sat down on the warm ground, stretching out her hind pads like a human being. Bear-cub spun around, curiously looking into the mouth of the mother, but she-bear only peevishly turned away from the insistent claims of her son. He was still too young to eat food that was hard to digest. Bear-cub aggrievedly began to sniff, unhappy with the dismissive attitude, but his offence quickly went south. And he playfully dug his small sharp teeth into the pad of his mother sitting nearby, beginning to pull about excitedly the seized tuft of fur. Funnily snarling, he playfully bounced off the pad and re-attacked. But this could not go on forever. Although the teeth were small, they still caused some sense of discomfort, as they resembled sharp needles. She-bear quickly grabbed the mischief-maker and, pressing a pad to the chest, carefully licked the sharp little face of the bear-cub, who spun like a whipping top and tried to catch her nose. But the mother only mockingly growled, deftly avoiding the snapping teeth, firmly holding the wanton with the mighty pad. Despite the old days, he seemed to her the most favourite, the best bear-cub in the world; it happened so in the past and so it would be in the future, but already with a new baby. She would not hesitate to sacrifice her own life for the safety of her children. For them, she was ready to fight any opponent, even if the chance to win was negligible. Her life did not matter to her if this would keep the baby unharmed. Past. Present. Future. Everything mixed up. Only the feeling of love remained unchanged. Once she was thoroughly licking the soft skins of the former children, smelling of the mother’s milk. And now she did not even remember how they looked like. Now they were not children but real adult bears, able to stand up for themselves. But once there, in early childhood, she carefully watched over them, protecting from all life’s earthly woes. She passed on her experience, due to which they became strong hunters, skilled trackers, and therefore survived. And so would be with him, with a small ‘silly little chap’, who did not even know what insidious traps this life had set for him; those death traps, from which one could not always come out as the winner. But she would teach him how to avoid danger, how to endure hardships with courage. She would teach him how to be strong, cunning, enduring. And he would grow a real experienced animal, ready for any trouble. She-bear pushed her son and, funnily waving pads, he rolled on his stomach on the grass, having driven his nose into an ant hill at full speed. Ants, taking a warlike posture, met the intruder with a friendly volley of searing fire. Bear-cub, getting a portion of caustic acid into the eyes, whiningly screamed. And desperately shaking his head, stumbling, he ran to his mother with a plaintive howl, hiding behind her. She-bear grinned in a good-natured manner, turned around, and embraced the tomboy enfolded in silence, who, clinging tightly to her, was cautiously glancing at the crumpled ant hill. This little adventure would be a good lesson for him, teaching him that even seemingly innocuous creature could fight back. But children were children. Children’s memory was swift passing. After a minute, having forgotten about the past troubles, bear-cub was looking at a large pine tree with keen interest. He was attracted by a great mystery, hidden in the thick branches. Curiosity spurred to action. He firmly extricated himself from his mother’s pads and, cautiously bypassing the ant hill, tottered to the tree with acute fascination. Having clasped the trunk with his pads, he nimbly climbed to the first branches and enthusiastically looked at the mother, who, from the height, seemed to him no bigger than an ant. She-bear aggrievedly growled, but the bear-cub was not paying attention to the alarmed murmurs, stubbornly climbed up, disappearing in the crown of the tree. And only when the mother nervously jumped up, emitting a loud warning roar, he moved back with extreme reluctance. But as soon as he touched the ground, his mother sternly grabbed him in her pads. And he was immediately punished for disobedience. She-bear didactically spanked the tomboy, ‘explaining’ that it was not necessary to behave recklessly and to upset her. Suddenly, she became alerted, catching the tart smell of the approaching predator. Then she nervously peered into rare glimpses between the branches of a shrub, having found the leaning grey shade near the stream. She-bear deafly roared, baring her strong fangs, her brows gloomily came close on the bridge of the nose. The fur on the nape stood on end. She did not see a direct threat of attack but decided not to risk and to chase away the grey robber, who could easily profit from her baby, as quickly as possible. She abruptly pushed the bear-cub, who instinctively obeying, quietly crouched in the grass, trying to merge with the ground. And walking quietly, she went to the hollow, trying not to lose the enemy out of her sight. The wolf, unaware of the impending danger, was slowly drinking from the stream. He lowered his heavy head, studded with broad whitish scars (the memory of past struggles for the right to have the best pieces of the prey and the fondling of the females in the big ruthless pack). There were many duels, from which he always came out the victor. He could be proud of his experience and strength, proving more than once that he did not take the leader’s place by chance. But he knew that nothing lasted forever. Soon he would grow old and would be replaced by a new leader, more agile and strong, and he would only have to sneak around to eat the pathetic remnants of a rich feast. But this would be in the future. Certainly, if only he would not be stopped by the hunter’s bullet. But today he was still the leader of the pack and would be able to prove it to any presumptuous young upstart, defending his leadership in the duel. He lapped the cool, clear water with pleasure, slaking the thirst. He was lucky to eat the unwary hare, and now he fairly purred from repletion. After each tilt, he was leaving blurred red spots on the surface of the water. Suddenly, he caught a suspicious sound behind and looked up sharply, bumping into the piercing eyes of a bear. It was an unpleasant meeting, which did not bode anything good. Alone, without the help of the pack, this enemy could not be defeated. Thoughts passed like a whirlwind. He was on the brick of death. He looked at the distance. He was lucky that he had noticed the danger at the time. Two or three steps more, and he would not be able to save his life. She-bear, realising that she had been noticed, stood up to her full height and fiercely roared, menacingly waving her front pads. The wolf quickly jumped away from the stream and, pressing close to the ground, backed into the saving bushes with haunted encolure, ferociously grinning and warningly growling in response. The fur on the back of his neck stood on end. He kept an eye open for the bear. Once again, she-bear emitted a terrible roar and rushed fiercely to the charge. There was nothing for the wolf but to cowardly tail off and to retreat hastily back home. He was not up to the restrained pride. Life was more precious. And he promptly dived into the briar bushes, ignoring the painful pricks of sharp spikes. She-bear did not pursue the fleeing enemy. Having stood for some time, waiting for the noise to cease, she came back, making the thin calling whistle. Bear-cub cautiously left the shelter and obediently tottered next to her. And they slowly headed to the highlands, where there were green shoots of young garlic on the warm slopes.