Night had not yet given way to morning when Zosia and Klara crept out of the cottage as quietly as deer. An August mist was blanketing the meadows and forest glades just outside the village of Szczęsne, where the cottages, though sloping, still glistened with the remnants of sleep. The sisters, gazing into the faint moonlight, walked towards the Old Bor - a place they had been forbidden to go near since childhood. However, they knew that something was pulling them there. Maybe it was their grandmother's stories of green mermaids and gentle whirlwinds that danced over the pond and whispered poems to the people. Maybe it was the whispering of the forest itself, the rustling of the leaves and the cries of the owls, which resounded menacingly but also as if to encourage them to keep walking. "See, there!" - Clare pointed her finger cautiously ahead. The mist parted briefly between the trunks, revealing the outline of something... wooden? Zosia felt a stab of anxiety, but also a hint of excitement. After all, they hadn't left their warm beds to turn back now. The cottage was old, very old. It had windows blocked with bottle glass, and the roof was covered with thick moss and ferns. There was a smell in the air of smoke, herbs and... something else they both couldn't identify. The door was ajar. Through a crack, the light of many candles was seeping in, flickering uncertainly like skylights. The sisters came closer, their hearts beating faster and faster. Inside, someone moved. Two silhouettes, dressed in long, embroidered gowns, with grey hair loose down their backs and faces with eyes - incredibly sharp, penetrating like forest animals - looked at them intently from inside the chamber. Suddenly, one of the figures raised his hand and gestured for the girls to come inside. For a moment, the world seemed to stop and all sounds of the forest fell silent. Zosia and Klara exchanged glances. Would they take this step? Did the Old Forest have something prepared for them that they would never forget? They were just about to cross the threshold when the crackle of breaking branches could be heard from behind the hut....