We set out, hand in hand. Misha had said:
“Come, Xenia, it’s time.”
And I followed him without saying a word. We knew the path well, he and I. Misha held the lantern in his right hand, its red light spread a weak glow around us, and in the thick night it was as if we were going through a tunnel.
At the same time, as we advanced, the space gained closed again behind us, like a black wall.
When we arrived at the end of the great walk on the grounds that surrounded my ancestral home, after which it would be a matter of dealing with unkept paths, Misha stopped...