I’ve wanted to tell this story for a very long time. Dim, cozy lighting, Lisa’s voice by the flames of the stove. And the atmosphere of something hidden, something only the forest can remember.
On summer evenings, the boyar would vanish into the hunt. But he went into the forest not to hunt at all. He was visiting his new forest friend Lisa, to whom he had promised help with food. One day, when Lisa had come to trust the young boyar, she led him to her secret lair amid the spruce thicket. It was a whimsical carved dugout burrow extending under the hill. Pavel was enchanted by the young vixen’s home. Everything around was fragrant with various herbs; a carpet of moss was spread on the floor. On the shelves stood clay pots with dried mushrooms and root vegetables. Instead of the traditional red corner with icons, strange amulets of forest gods hung here and there. Lisa lit a pine splinter on the table and kindled the small stove. Brewing some herbal tea for her guest, she chattered away without pause.Her guest settled into a large chair carved from an old stump and relaxed, letting the evening flow wherever it wished.Liza spoke of some former cat husband and of her strange adventures with the Wolf… All of them sentient, just like her. Pavel had touched a world entirely new to him, and the thirst for knowledge drew him deeper into the thicket. He watched her every movement in fascination, feeling no fear or doubt at the thought that he might simply fall asleep in this chair in this girl’s home. No one at the manor knew where he was. Her delicate voice rang like a melody in his head, blending with the taste of currant and mint. Suddenly, he caught a note of sadness in her words. The talk had turned to her lineage. Humans? There were humans in her bloodline? Lisa recounted the legend of an ancient northern hunter in these forests who hunted her ancestors. One day, one of her tribe fell in love with the hunter and beckoned him into the woods. After their secret trysts, the vixen bore him 4 fox kits. The hunter, fearing discovery in his community, renounced her. He shouted: “You’re lying! They’re not mine! You’ve been with your forest spirits behind my back!” But the kits had his eyes. He knew they were his children. He fled to his village, spreading tales that the wild beast-headed tribes in the forest were dangerous. The hunter’s name was unusual - Patricius.
Pavel frowned. Patricius… Patrikei… He had heard that Greek name somewhere. Centuries ago, one of the founders of his family line had borne a similar name. Too long ago to recall clearly.
“Well… It seems it was fated for us to meet that evening, my vixen-sister… For that hunter was from our shared bloodline.”
Lisa fell silent and turned. In her eyes flashed incomprehension. “You…”
“So fate brought us here so that I might mend what that hunter broke. I feel the pain of that vixen as my own. And I understand why you turn your nose up at humans, hiding in the forest.”
Lisa frowned and murmured softly, turning away: “We have no right to judge each other for the weaknesses of our ancestors.”
“And I won’t go anywhere. I won’t leave my sister in the forest.”
It was clear that Pavel’s ambition and pride had been pricked by this forest legend. He wished he could have seen those kits and done something - but centuries had passed. Now before him sat the only angel: his distant sister, unknown to all, forced to steal from his kin just to maintain her human guise. He took a deep breath and looked into her fox eyes gleaming in the pine splinter’s flame. She met his gaze with a sweet fox smile: “So I ruined my brother’s wedding?”
He smiled back. “But I found my sister instead. And the forest bears witness - this is a good omen, for we are bound by blood across the ages.”
Pavel knew what he intended to do. Now he understood why she had come to his courtyard. Why she had disrupted his wedding. Why he saw a girl in her, not a beast. These fateful coincidences - the games of forest spirits - had led him to his sister. And a plan was brewing in his mind: how to wield the power granted him to right the wrongs of that hunter.
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Yes, I know there's a real Patrikei, a cunning and unpleasant prince of the 15th century, but I call it a plot loop. When similar names are connected to the same events by coincidence. Patrician is an ancient name, literally meaning "Noble". A play on words. The hunter turned out to be not so noble.