South of the abandoned farm where she awoke was a golden glow. At first she thought it might be the sun, but the light was too weak, too transient. Old warnings about following mysterious lights flashed through her mind, keeping her well away from whatever lay across the bridge.

In the end, curiosity and loneliness won out. Her family were not here. She had already known as much once she awakened; it had taken her this long to accept it. Even now, she believed they must be somewhere—and so she trotted towards the strange light, wondering if perhaps it had lured others with its glow. Perhaps, perhaps, it would give her answers.

At the end of her trek across the stone bridge she found a light yellow flame. Fueled by nothing she could see, yet large enough to make her wary of approaching. Yet she did not feel heat singing off her fur: this fire seemed gentle, in spite of its great size. She crept closer, and marvelled that the cold biting at her pawpads had lessened.

She heard something behind her, and she whirled around in surprise, fur half-bristled. Who goes there?

Her heart pounded in her chest for a split-second as she sought the voice she heard.

When she noticed the brown shape in the snow, Corvi stared, taken aback. Instead of a fellow wolf, an eagle had plopped down from the sky. Not only that, but she spoke. Her fur flattened, any aggression abating from her surprise. Instead, she peered down at the indignant bird with curious red eyes. She was wise enough not to get too close; she didn't like the look of that sharp beak, and those sharp talons.

Ah, said Corvi. She flattened her ears apologetically. I thought you might be a raider. Or, someone I know.

You come to see the fire too...ah...орел (eagle)? The common word evaded her.

She felt a twinge in her chest. Yes, she understood the feeling all too well. She was far, far from anything she had ever known. She pictured her brother tending his herb garden, leaning heavily on the cane her uncle had made for him. Did he wonder where his older sister had gone? And her younger sister, too—would she pick up the sabre she had dropped?

Did either of them still live? Of course, she told herself firmly. She could not consider a reality where they did not. She sat down, letting the fire warm her back.

It is the language of the Rus', Corvi explained. Spoken throughout the land, though I have heard the kings speak another.

Neither of us are meant to be here. Yet, here we are. She blew a low, tired sigh through her teeth. My name is Corvi. Of Somovo, she meant to add, but the words did not come. Somehow, it was too painful to speak.