Under a linden tree, only 45 minutes away from the bee hives, we found a wicker basket. Foma went clear past it, but Afanasy was alert to the need of a tiny toddler in a wicker basket and always ready to provide aid and love (as he did for me).
"Wot is this?" he cried, cradling the wicker basket in his arms as Foma dragged the sledge imperceptibly past. After seven hours, we were only a few hundred feet from the birch stand.
"O Ho! A babe!" he cried, and truly there was an adorable little dark-haired child asleep in the basket, nursing on its thumb.
"Das, what does this note say?"
"S-V-E-T-O-K? I don't know."
"That means flower. She is a flower."
"How beautiful" quoth Foma, the idiot.
"Wot is this?" he cried, cradling the wicker basket in his arms as Foma dragged the sledge imperceptibly past. After seven hours, we were only a few hundred feet from the birch stand.
"O Ho! A babe!" he cried, and truly there was an adorable little dark-haired child asleep in the basket, nursing on its thumb.
"Das, what does this note say?"
"S-V-E-T-O-K? I don't know."
"That means flower. She is a flower."
"How beautiful" quoth Foma, the idiot.
"Well, let's bring the child to the Kreml. Through the gates, to the most secret and innermost parts."
"Yes, let's." quoth Foma, the idiot. I pursed my lips.
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