Natalya, a woman of respectable age, opened her eyes as always — long before the sun even considered appearing on the horizon. For decades now, she had grown used to waking first: in the village, you simply couldn’t afford to be lazy. Here, idleness was spotted instantly — there were cows to be milked, gardens to be weeded before the heat set in, and endless household tasks to keep in order. Everything was thought out and arranged the night before.

But this morning, it wasn’t duty that had woken her. The house had long since run like clockwork without her direct hand. Her two daughters-in-law were skillful and efficient; her sons, grown men now, never shirked responsibility. Natalya could have easily allowed herself a bit more rest. But that pre-dawn silence, that moment of the world still holding its breath — it was something she’d grown to love. There was something sacred about being awake when everything else was still asleep. It was a time to reflect, to knead dough in peace, to bake bread and buns, to quietly prepare breakfast as though that simple ritual alone gave life its meaning.

Yet today, her mind was preoccupied with something else.

The previous afternoon, her neighbor Klavdiya had come by boasting of a bountiful mushroom harvest — a whole basket brimming with birch boletes, russulas, woolly milk caps, and golden chanterelles. That news stirred Natalya's inner hunter. A quiet smile had crept to her face then, and she had made up her mind: tomorrow morning, she too would go into the forest. Maybe fortune would favor her.

Now, as she tied her headscarf, straightened her simple clothes, and grabbed her empty wicker basket, a faint excitement stirred in her chest. Outside, the village was wrapped in stillness. There were no voices yet, no footsteps, only the distant call of roosters testing their early cries.

She walked the familiar path, boots crunching softly on the dirt, past the last sleepy houses leaning at the forest’s edge. Then, unexpectedly, a voice broke the silence.

“Natalya Nikitichna, where are you off to at this hour?”

Startled, she turned around sharply.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack, Ivanych!” she gasped, recognizing the man leaning against the fence — Mikhail, a solitary figure in the village. Middle-aged, quiet, and with a reputation as “peculiar,” though not in a harmful way.

“I was waiting for you,” he smirked, adjusting his thick mustache. “Wanted to see where my favorite neighbor takes her daily walks. Your Danila’s been gone for years, and yet you’re still just as lively.”

“Misha, you’ve lost your mind,” Natalya snorted, though a twinkle flashed in her eyes. “We’re nearly the same age, and I’m not off to find romance. I’m heading to the forest — chasing mushrooms before the rest of the crowd wakes up.”

“Klavdiya inspired you, huh?” he grinned. “I’ve been meaning to go, too. But it’s no fun going alone. At least you have people around. Me — I’m alone as a stray birch leaf.”

“That’s on you,” Natalya softened, her voice losing its edge. “After Marusya, you shut yourself off. Plenty of women would’ve gladly stood by you.”

A shadow crossed Mikhail’s face. He looked away, suddenly solemn.

“Well, go on then,” he murmured. “Best get moving before city folk come swarming in.”

“You’re something else — light a spark, then snuff it out with a sigh,” she muttered, lifting her basket. Without looking back, she walked away. Behind her, Mikhail watched her go, sighed, and whispered to no one:

“She always wants to know everything... like a curious magpie.”

He lingered by the fence, staring toward the forest long after she’d vanished from view. How could he ever explain the grief he had carried for years?

Mikhail had loved Marusya deeply, soulfully. They had no children, something that once felt like a chasm between them. Marusya had hoped for a miracle — and one nearly came. She became pregnant, and for nine months Mikhail treated her like a glass doll. But tragedy struck: a difficult birth, a botched surgery... and both mother and child were lost in a single, cruel night.

After that, Mikhail was never the same. He retreated from the world. Moved to her childhood village and rarely spoke. The villagers whispered about him. Especially after that strange incident years ago, when a traveler stayed at his house and piercing screams were heard at night. No one dared ask what had happened. Rumors stirred — some said he had dealings with spirits, others claimed he carried grief too deep to speak.

Natalya, despite her sharp tongue, always tried to keep him tethered to life — with stories, jokes, or just a loaf of fresh bread delivered without a word.

Now, as she walked deeper into the forest, that old unease crept up her spine. It felt as though someone were watching her — a gaze cold and lingering. She glanced back, half-suspecting Mikhail’s eyes might be on her from afar. But the moment she spotted the pale caps of birch boletes glinting among the leaves, her worries vanished. Mushrooms! That was why you rose before dawn.

Time passed unnoticed as she wandered further. Her basket slowly filled. She barely registered the unfamiliar terrain until her foot sank suddenly into soggy, cold mire.

“Lord have mercy,” she whispered, realizing she’d wandered into Wolf Swamp — a place avoided even by the bravest pickers.

Before she could turn back, a chilling noise echoed from the trees — a groan, low and haunting. Then came a scream. Sharp, agonized.

“Is someone there?!” Natalya cried out.

A voice answered, weak and desperate:
“Help… please…”

Her heart raced. She followed the sound and spotted a figure trapped in the swamp up to the neck. Without hesitation, she dropped her basket and rushed to help. It took every ounce of her strength, but eventually, she pulled the mud-soaked woman onto firmer ground.

“You’re a woman!” Natalya exclaimed in surprise. “Who are you? Where did you come from?”

“I… I don’t know,” the woman murmured. “No name. No memory.”

Natalya frowned. “Well, that’s something. But we’ve no time for riddles. Come, we’ll get you to the village.”

The stranger’s legs trembled. She couldn’t stand.

Natalya, though exhausted, refused to leave her. Slowly, painfully, they began to move. Natalya supported her with one arm, dragged the basket with the other. Eventually, they paused to rest in a meadow, and Natalya wrapped her scarf around the woman’s shoulders.

“You don’t look like one of us,” she said, examining her sneakers and city-style jacket. “Your people must be worried.”

“I don’t remember them,” the woman whispered.

“Alright,” Natalya sighed. “You see that hill? There’s a road just beyond it. Walk toward it, wave the scarf if you see anyone. I’ll fetch help.”

Several hours later, Natalya emerged onto the road and nearly collapsed from fatigue. And by fate — or perhaps something else — the first person she saw was Mikhail, guiding a cart of hay.

“Misha!” she gasped. “A woman — she’s hurt, lost — in the swamp!”

In a flash, Mikhail turned the horse. “You go home,” he said. “I’ll handle this.”

He found the woman not far from the hill, clutching Natalya’s white scarf. She flinched at first, but he spoke gently:

“Natalya sent me. You’re safe now.”

He lifted her onto the hay and drove her to his home, where he helped her clean up and gave her fresh clothes — ones that had belonged to Marusya. She noticed the detail but said nothing. Later, at dinner, she quietly asked:

“Were these your wife’s?”

“Yes,” he answered, stirring the stew.

“I think… I think my name is Maria. When you said ‘Mashenka’… it stirred something.”

“That’s something, Masha,” he smiled. “We’re getting somewhere.”

But Mikhail couldn’t sleep that night. Something gnawed at him. Just before dawn, he woke Maria and brought her to a room with a low bench and an embroidered towel.

“I’m a bonesetter,” he said calmly. “My father taught me. This will hurt — but it will help.”

Maria, hesitant, lay down. With his tools — a mallet and a stake — he adjusted her spine with sharp, targeted blows. Her screams were loud enough to echo through the trees.

Natalya, unable to resist her worry, came to check on them. When she heard the scream, she ran to the local policeman, convinced Mikhail had lost his mind.

But when the officer arrived, they found Maria smiling over tea, thanking Mikhail for healing her.

Then, something unexpected happened. The policeman looked closer and exclaimed:

“You’re Maria Kulikova! You’ve been reported missing. Your husband’s been searching for you!”