YAGA | ✓

FIVE

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THE FIRST THING Yaga felt when she woke up was the prickle of eyes on her, burning into her skin. She realised that she was no longer on the forest floor, but in a tent of a sort, with animal hides and thick sheepskins offering sanctuary from the brutally cold snowless winter. Yaga's own furs were laid out on a deer hide, in front of a brightly crackling fire.

She eyed the spitting embers tentatively, balling her toes and fists for warmth. Whichever fool had placed her in here hadn't secured the opening of the tent, for it was flapping amok in the howling wind. From what her weary eyes could see, it was morning, harsh and bleak. A chill rattled her bones, and Yaga forced herself to sit up, still stubbornly ignoring whoever was looking at her.

Their face was out of her line of sight, making them a mere swathe of furs, but even from afar, she could see that their weathered hands were clasped over their chest, leaning back in the chair. Once she was coherent, Yaga decided, she would beat the dimwit for saving her life, and then throw herself into the river. Everything she'd done that night -- she would never forgive herself for doing. In front of so many people; what had she been thinking?

Life had lost all of its meaning - her mother, her few friends, most importantly the tailor's shop that she'd channelled her heart and soul into since she was born. Yaga had always known that it would be hers one day, keeping that knowledge closer to her heart than anything else. Now, that was gone, too. Her parents would have to close it down and get away as far as they could. Perhaps her father could get lost along the way and finally leave Anya alone, Yaga fantasised, leaving her mother to be finally happy without the two worst things in her life - her husband and daughter.

Yaga resisted the urge to crawl over to the fire and dump her head into it, instead deciding to smack her head on the pillow angrily. "Are you just going to just sit and watch?"

The figure scoffed as Yaga tried to move her legs, surprised to find herself kicking off the furs covering her body with the worst of the pain seemingly already gone. Now that she thought about it, her jaw hurts far less too, not even a bruise in the place where Dimitri had stricken her.

How?

Either she'd been unconscious forever, or these strange saviours had tainted her with their magic.

But she could no longer insult the power, Yaga contemplated, attempting to haul herself out of the bed. She was dressed in different clothes now, a hunting get-up with buckskin leggings and boots along with a beige tunic and a heavy bear fur cloak over it. The thought of someone undressing her while she was half-dead made Yaga severely uncomfortable, though the sight of a girl in the heap of furs that had been watching rather than a man made her somewhat less furious.

Raising a thick dark eyebrow, the girl sat back in the wooden chair, long fingers tapping out a rhythm on the carvings. "So you're up. Already annoying me. Remind me why I rescued you?"

"I didn't ask you to bring me here, did I?" Yaga found herself snapping back, feet landing with an audible thump on the fur-covered ground.

"Actually, you did," the girl said sharply, feigning sugary sweet. "With your dying breath--" she began to huff dramatically, when the walls moved to trap her in their clenched embrace, pinning her between two deer hides.

"Move, you bastard!" she growled, raking at the hide with grimy nails. Perplexed, Yaga watched the phenomenon unfold, holding back a laugh as she watched her captor struggle.

"Nikolai!" the girl shouted, his name like a curse on her lips. A veil of matted ebony nail covered the gaunt hollows of her face, only the tip of her nose visible in the midst of it all. "Stop it."

The walls seemed to rumble, releasing a deep laugh that weakened Yaga's knees. What on Earth was happening? What sort of madhouse was she in? The girl spoke the same language as Yaga, even sharing her accent (though Yaga had never ventured far enough to hear any other), though the girl's was far grittier, laced with a toughness that sounded as if it had taken years to grow.

She reminded Yaga of slate, dark and rough, while Yaga herself was marble - smooth, sleek and cold.

Untouchable.

The events of the night begged to differ, but Yaga held her head up high, unable to swallow her pride. It would not all go to waste, she promised herself. Never would she waste what her mother had toiled so long and hard for.

"Where in the gods' name are we?" Yaga found herself demanding, the fiercer voice that she reserved for Yelena escaping her lips. Usually, she would've made herself sound less like she cared, but today, she was not interested in forming an image. She just wanted information, and that was what she was going to get.

Barking a laugh, the girl pushed the hide away from her body, the walls heaving in response. Her black eyes flashed as she produced a tiny vial from the pocket of her cloak, holding it delicately between her fingertips. "If I tell you, I'll have to force this down your throat." She bared her teeth, revealing sharply pointed teeth fashioned into fangs, like those of a wolf.

"Tell her what it is. You're not scaring her!" the walls called, closing the opening with a loud snap.

The girl ignored him, and in that moment, she looked so much like someone that Yaga had seen years ago that she froze. Slowly, her mind grasped at a name, a distant memory.

Lena.

That was it.

Then, she noticed the scar on the girl's neck, just above her collar, a faded pink against her tan gold skin. Yaga knew that scar. It was one that she'd seen on a child's neck, from the serrated edge of a knife. It sent the images of a pyre running through her head, screams and rope and smoke - with the Doktor standing above it all, watching as the child's cries fell upon deaf ears.

Just thinking of the Doktor made Yaga feel sick, like her lungs were being crushed and all the air had been choked out of her body. She let herself cough, once, and began running a hand through her hair worriedly.

"If you won't tell me where we are, then tell me this. Milena Koreva, I know that it is you before me. What have you become?"

A grim smile hung on Milena's lips. "Nothing worse than you are."

The walls leaned in closer to eavesdrop.

"And what am I, really?" Yaga's voice became dangerously low. Her heart pounded.

Lena cocked her head in mock thought. "Monstrous, Yaga Izeva. Monstrous."

Digging into a pouch at her belt, she took a handful of dark berries, holding them out to the amber-haired girl.

"Care for a berry?"

Yaga ignored her, taking her fur from its place by the fire and pulling it on.

"I hope you know you're not going to leave for a while, Yaga.

"Not before you pay."

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