Michal and Ola slip into the ancient forest outside Widuchowa, chasing answers about vanished animals and old legends. In the clearing, they find a circle of stones and something waiting in the dark.
Night was sliding over Widuchowa when Michal looked up at the full moon, pale and sharp above the roofs. Ola sat on the sagging fence beside him, swinging her legs too fast to be patient.
"Do you think it's real?" she asked, nodding toward the forest. In the darkness beyond the river, the trees stood packed together like a wall. "The caves under the aspens. The ones Grandma talked about."
Michal said nothing at first. Since their great-grandmother had told them about Leshy, the planetts, and the russets, he had tried to laugh it off. It had not worked. Not with the animals disappearing. Not with the strange tracks in the mud near the mill. Not with the way the villagers lowered their voices whenever the forest was mentioned.
"If we're quick, we'll be back before dawn," he said at last. He tried to make it sound careless. It came out almost like a dare.
Ola grinned, but her eyes stayed fixed on the trees. Together they slipped through the gap in the fence and crossed the river on slick stones, the water black and cold under their boots. On the far bank, the air changed. It smelled of wet bark, crushed leaves, and something older they could not name.
The forest closed around them at once. Branches brushed their shoulders. Roots twisted underfoot. Even the moonlight seemed hesitant here, thinning into silver strips between the trunks.
They moved deeper in silence, listening for any sign that they were not alone. Then, in a small clearing ringed with ferns, Ola stopped so suddenly that Michal almost ran into her.
"Look," she whispered.
In the middle of the clearing lay a circle of smooth stones, each one shining as if it had been polished by water. Fresh moss covered the stump beside them, and the fern fronds trembled without any wind. Michal crouched and reached for the nearest stone.
The instant his fingers brushed it, a soft laugh rose from somewhere in the dark.
The clearing seemed to tighten around them. The air grew heavy, thick as breath before a storm. From the shadow of the bushes stepped a figure no taller than they were, with green eyes that caught the moonlight and hair tangled with leaves. An owl perched on her shoulder, silent and watchful.
She tilted her head, studying them as if she had been expecting them.
"Who trespasses here?" she asked, her voice like dry grass moving in the wind. "And who told you that the old forest would let you leave once it has seen you?"