Nina lived by the river, right next to an old sacred grove. Her grandmother told her about Kupala Night, garlands and fires. She also talked about the lecher who guards the paths in the forest. That evening the whole village was preparing a pyre on the hill. Nina wove a garland of mugwort, mint and cornflowers, feeling a chill. She had gone to the water for a reed when something flashed in the sand. She pulled out a wolf-shaped clay whistle, cool and heavy. A rune stick was stuck in the mouthpiece, like a spiral whirlpool. When she touched it, the whistle vibrated, as if a forest was throbbing inside it. A whisper came from the grove, quiet and yet clear. 'Give back what you borrowed,' the air said her name. Grandmother was already calling from above, but the drums covered her voice. Nina stood at the edge of the grove, where a gate of birch trees formed an archway. A path she did not know opened up between the ferns. Skylights arranged letters on the moss that glittered like dew. The same sign, a swirl of swish, waited on the trunk of an oak tree. 'Don't whistle in the forest' - sounded her grandmother's voice in her memory. But her fingers clung to the whistle of their own accord, like a key. She blew once, quietly; the ferns bowed and the trees sighed. Something heavy stepped behind her back, leaving a trail like deer antlers. Nina turned slowly as darkness moved between the trunks. 'You've come at last, Nina,' someone said, and the ground beneath her feet twitched.