Volodya

Summer burst into the kingdom suddenly—hot, muggy, and filled with blinding light. The sun, like a scorching ball, mercilessly flooded the fields and forests, but the early morning air still retained the cool of the night. Volodya, accustomed to greeting the sunrise, rose at five in the morning. He quickly cleaned himself up and, after breakfast, left the palace. The path led him across the endless field, lulled by the rustling grass, and the forest loomed ahead like a dark wall. Volodya took a couple of arrows with him—not for hunting, no. He was a lousy hunter, and was downright afraid of animals. But just to be sure. He walked, enjoying the silence, until he realized the path had disappeared. The forest closed its branches over him, and Volodya realized with annoyance: he was lost.
Suddenly, a low, guttural growl shattered the silence. Volodya froze. His heart sank, and an icy terror gripped his body. Two yellow eyes peered at him from behind the bushes. A wolf. The predator slowly stepped into the clearing, fangs bared. Volodya had no time to scream or move. He merely closed his eyes, instinctively covering his face with his hands, awaiting the inevitable outcome. But instead of pain, he heard a piercing squeal and the dull slap of paws hitting the ground. Opening his eyes, he saw an incredible sight: the wolf, whining and clutching its wounded paw, was retreating, and a young man burst out of the thicket into the clearing. He was slightly shorter than Volodya, but his movements were sleek and agile. The stranger swung his sword sharply—the blade glinted dully in the morning light—and wounded the beast. The wolf turned and disappeared into the thicket. The young man straightened and hissed softly in pain—he must have cut himself on a branch while running. A fresh scratch was red on his forearm. He glanced at Volodya and grinned, seeing his pale, confused face.

"Lost?" His voice was calm, slightly hoarse.

Volodya merely nodded, exhaling shakily and tucking his trembling hands into his caftan pockets. Yura, however, waved silently—"Follow me"—and strode forward, forging a path through the thicket. He walked silently, but his shoulders were slightly tense, and his gaze darted intently over the dark undergrowth.