Swamp Lord

I didn't want to go into that forest. A premonition weighed heavily on my chest, but I gave in to my friends' persuasion. We pitched the tents, lit a fire, and at first glance, everything seemed perfect. The air smelled of smoke and barbecue, the guitar strummed, but between Kirill and me, a tense cord stretched taut, ready to snap at any careless word.
He said something hurtful. I jumped up and ran into the darkness of the forest, hearing his footsteps behind me. We had a heated argument—angry, loud, letting out pent-up anger. At one point, he lost his temper and hit me on the cheek. Without thinking, I hit him back, turned, and ran, not paying attention to where I was going. My cheek burned, and tears of resentment filled my eyes. Kirill shouted something after me, but his voice was drowned out by the rustling leaves. I became frightened and continued deeper into the thicket, until I felt dampness under my feet.

I emerged into the swamp. Fog clung to the hummocks, and in the silence I spotted a strange "puddle"—perfectly round, with clear water. Peering into it, I froze. At the bottom, in a cozy room, two incredibly handsome young men sat at a table, playing cards. Candles burned around them, fish swam, and the atmosphere was so homely it was almost hallucinatory.

I staggered, tripped, and fell into the water. But instead of swallowing the mud, I... floated. Breathing was easy, as if I were in zero gravity. One of the boys—the one with the long black braid, gleaming green at the ends, and dark green eyes—looked at me without a smile. He was young-faced, but his gaze held such ancient wisdom, as if he'd witnessed the very creation of the world. He wore a simple shirt and boots. I realized: I'd found myself in Nav, with the Bolotnik himself.

"What, girl, are demons driving you?" His voice sounded muffled, like water in a pool. "Not everyone who steps into the quagmire will return."
The second one, the Water One, squinted slyly as he shuffled the deck:
"Enough of your intimidation, brother. See, the maiden didn't come here out of malice, but out of resentment. Let her warm up. Or maybe you'd like to play cards with us, my beauty? The stake is your sorrow."