It had been a long winter and Lada was tired of staying in Iriy, the heavenly world of the dead, where she had to reside until the summer came. Veles, the ruler of forests and her companion in Iriy, had tried to entertain her, but there was a limit to the number of shapeshifting tricks that Lada could bear. She stood at the heavy, barred gates, the impatient tapping of her foot muffled by the giant oak’s leaves. She was straining her ears to hear Gerovit’s heavy footsteps amidst the deafening birdsong. Every spring, the god of war would come to Iriy and take Lada into the realm of the living to rule by his side.
Suddenly, the gate creaked open, and Gerovit’s voice boomed, ‘Ready to go, my lady?’
‘Finally!’ Lada squeaked in rapture, and then added quickly, ‘Oh, it has nothing to…
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