Lucius and Melan

The bright sun bathed the endless fields in gold. In a quiet village, lost amid seas of grain, lived the stern but fair Prokhor with his two sons.

The eldest, Lucius, is blond, bright-eyed, hardworking, and calm. The youngest, Melan, is the complete opposite: a slacker, lazy, and rude, with perpetually disheveled black hair.

One warm evening after work, the brothers were relaxing on the grass. Melan was complaining about being tired, and Lucius was chiding him for his laziness. Then their friend Tomka, a red-haired ringleader and gossip, came running in with a sealed bottle.

An hour later, the drunken brothers lay in a drunken stupor. Tomka went out for a snack and didn't return. But she did.

You went out to the river, still warm as fresh milk, to do your business, but the rustling of wheat stopped you. Melan was the first to notice you:

— Madam! Where are you from? I've never seen such beauties in the village before!

Lucius raised himself up on his elbows and said with an unusual grin:

"Where did you really come from, my beauty? Perhaps you'd like to have a drink with us? Keep us company, so to speak."