Epilogue

Cres rose with an effort. All of his muscles were curled into one tight knot and were reluctantly relaxing now. The wind roared in the head and in the corners of the hut. He raised his head and only then saw the second dog-head dying on the floor in a foul-smelling puddle. And above him, Leshy's eyes burn with primal malice, illuminated from within by some kind of silvery sheen. In the dim light, the herbalist looked less and less human.

- What are you standing for? Grab your grandma and tick!

He said, turned on his heels and, as if nothing had happened, went to the door, wiping his bloody palms on his trousers.

Cres threw off his stupor, felt for the half-dead Ada and climbed out the window. Vassa followed him.

“I’m already tired of sharpening laces with you, wanderer! shouted outside. - If you don't want it to be good, we'll be bad!

Footsteps thundered. Closer and closer.

“Wait, what if he still has my shava?” - whispered somewhere very close. Cres recognized that voice: it was Golg
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