The Adventures of Elfik (Translation made by DeepSeek) 

   Nearby, in a small hollow, lived another tiny creature, also a central figure in this tale. She was a funny, tender-hearted little girl, just a bit shorter than Elfik, and her name was Mavochka. This cheerful, sparkling creature, bubbling with laughter, lived in the hollow of an old willow tree, where she had a bed of soft, dry moss, a tiny stool, and a hearth molded from clay and set upon a flat stone—all arranged with the help of Elfik, who, as a good neighbor, had assisted her in settling in. She was not from these parts but had arrived one spring, hidden in the feathers of a swan during its migration to keep from freezing. The walls of her little home were snugly lined with dry reeds and hung with bundles of fragrant herbs she gathered for tea. So pleasant and cozy was this little hollow, its entrance covered by a door of tightly woven branches on hinges made of fibrous grass, that this independent and hospitable girl always had visitors. A little hare might hop in and mumble in his rabbit tongue, or a magpie might flutter in to gossip, or even a wary weasel might dart inside, nuzzle its snout into Mavochka’s gentle hands, and then slip away again on its predatory business. And so, throughout the day, someone was always bringing joy to the little girl.

   Elfik, making his regular rounds of the places near his nest, always stopped by to see Mavochka. They would sit sipping fragrant tea—he on the stool by the hearth, she on her bed—chatting leisurely. Since the girl preferred merry tales to sad ones, Elfik would recount amusing adventures he had experienced or heard of, and she would laugh with her ringing voice, so clear that travelers on the road above the ravine would hear it. They would mistake it for the chime of a silver bell and, frightened by the unknown, quicken their pace, later telling each other wild stories and never daring to descend into the hollow.

   But Mavochka’s most frequent guest was her dearest friend—a water toad named Skokva, who came hopping into the hollow every day, croaking out the latest news from her beloved stream with such enthusiasm that Mavochka’s ears would ring. Yet she always listened with genuine delight to every detail of the toad’s gossip.

   And so they lived—Mavochka in her willow hollow, and Elfik in his little nest, which he wove anew each year in the thick weeds by the road, twisting the tops of dried, woody grass into something like a hanging ball, suspended just above the ground. He used hazel twigs and dry grass for the weaving, lining the inside with swan and goose down gathered from molting birds at a distant marsh. Thus, even in winter, he needed no fire to keep warm. The space was just enough for him and his few belongings.

   Decades had passed since Elfik first came to these lands. Before that, he had lived in a very different place—one where no human foot had stepped for ages, where the relations among its inhabitants had remained unchanged since time immemorial. That place was called Ktolho (Morning Joy). Once, humans had dwelled there, but their unquenchable greed and lust for dominion led to their banishment. A new world was made for them, nearly identical to their homeland, and they departed, naming their new home Earth.

   In the world of Morning Joy, Elfik had lived on a great island in the sea, surrounded by others like himself. As a prince of royal blood, he was held in high esteem. Yet he was endlessly drawn to distant lands and other worlds, tales of which were brought by elves attending the Great Gathering. These stories were so vivid, so thrilling to the young prince’s imagination, that he would sit for hours, ears twitching with excitement, dreaming of nothing but journeying into the unknown. His kin loved him dearly and begged him to stay on the island, where he would be safe—but one day, he simply vanished. And all at once, they knew: the time had come for the elf with the secret name to set foot upon the perilous yet alluring path of adventure.

   In the end, Elfik chose the Ukrainian steppe, a land he grew to love so deeply that he never wished to leave. He found a spot by a human road, weaving a new nest each year, and slowly began restoring order, ensuring that humans did not spoil the beauty of the land.

   One summer morning, after breakfasting on flower pollen (which the local bees generously shook from their hind legs into a clay bowl by his nest) and sipping fresh dew (tipped from a burdock leaf into his mouth), Elfik set off for a walk. Humming a cheerful tune and clapping his hands in rhythm, he followed his hidden path through the tall roadside grass, delighting in the sun’s sparkle on dewdrops. A field mouse scurried past, casting a glance his way but too busy to even greet him—likely hurrying to a distant barley field. Unoffended, Elfik waved and skipped to the road’s edge, where the grass was dust-coated from passing carts and the restless wind. He turned and walked along the verge toward the village, where a gully deepened into a ravine, cradling a spring-fed stream that wound its way to a distant marsh.

   Carefully crossing the road (so no human would see him), he descended into the ravine, overgrown with old willows, maples, bird cherries, and elders, and followed a familiar path to visit Mavochka. With a light leap, he cleared a fallen tree and gave a soft, summoning toot on his horn. Now all the ravine’s creatures knew an elf was near, and with him, they were safe. The birds sang more brightly, a squirrel chattered joyfully from the branches, and the frogs burst into such a chorus that one could hardly bear it.

   Squeezing between roots exposed by spring floods, Elfik climbed down to a small pool fringed with reeds. Suddenly, the old willow creaked, and an opening appeared in its bark—out peeked the smiling face of his tiny hostess.

   "It’s a buttercap. Very tasty." He broke off a piece and handed it to her. "I love these. They always smell like mushrooms and a little like pine."

   Mavochka trusted Elfik in all things and happily nibbled the mushroom, her little feet dancing with delight.

   "Now let’s have tea before it gets cold!" The hospitable hostess poured the fragrant brew into two tiny clay cups, and for the hedgehog, she set out a bowl (since its paws weren’t suited for teacups). The hedgehog thanked her, sniffed the bowl, and said he’d wait for it to cool.

   As the two sipped their tea, Elfik asked the hedgehog for news. Reluctantly tearing its gaze from the fire, the hedgehog explained it had come specifically to see Elfik: a pack of wild, vicious dogs had appeared in the forest, and no one knew what to do. Everyone was terrified, and the forester—the hamlet’s owner—had stopped visiting altogether. The little woods were in despair. The dogs had ravaged birds’ nests, devoured old Homa the hare (the best storyteller in those parts), and killed much of the wildlife.

  Elfik grew thoughtful, nodding to himself. Though Mavochka knew none of these creatures, she began to cry, her tears plinking into her teacup.

   Elfik set down his cup and stood. Now he was no longer just Elfik—he was the Prince of the Elves, with duties to uphold, obligations to aid those in need, and many other noble tasks befitting his honor.

   He smiled at Mavochka.

   "Don’t cry. I’ll go at once. And thank you, hedgehog, for coming to tell me!"

   With a courteous farewell, he left the hollow, pushed off from a gnarled root, and soared into the sky. Rising high to appear as a tiny bird to those below, he flew toward the hamlet. Passing over it, he saw the forester’s little daughter playing with dolls in the yard. Unable to resist mischief, he gave a soft toot on his horn. The girl looked up, blinking in surprise, searching the sky for the source of the sound. Elfik laughed and waved, though he knew she couldn’t see him.

   Soon he reached the forest’s edge where the hedgehog had come from. Landing on a familiar pine (home to his old friend Zhivka the squirrel), he found the hollow empty—and by the scent, long abandoned. Taking flight again, he glided between the trees, searching for locals. After much circling, he heard a magpie’s distant chatter and flew toward it.

   The black-and-white chatterbox sat atop a tall aspen, swaying like a pendulum, rattling away. Elfik hovered beside her.

   "Hey, magpie! Why all the noise? And where is everyone? I know about the stray dogs—show me where they are."

   The magpie paused, then launched into an explanation: the original pack had been joined by dogs from the village beyond the forest, and now there were at least twenty. The magpie couldn’t count but described each dog in detail, leaving Elfik to tally them. The pack was led by a massive, dark-patched brute with a torn ear and matted fur. Every newcomer was thoroughly bitten into submission. They roamed the woods, devouring any living thing they found. The magpie lamented that soon, nothing would remain.

   Elfik cut her off, ordering her to lead him to the dogs. With a noisy flap, she flew toward a small hill rising above the treetops. Even before reaching it, Elfik heard frenzied barking and yelping—the dogs were hunting something.

   At the hill’s base, chaos reigned. The dogs lunged at the entrance of a large burrow, snarling and snapping, only to recoil with yelps. Some clawed at the earth above, trying to dig their way in. From the burrow’s depths glared the furious face of a badger, valiantly defending itself. Several dogs already bore scratches and bites but kept attacking.

   Spotting the leader lounging nearby, tail flicking impatiently beside a fluffy she-dog, Elfik snapped off a hazel switch. He didn’t bring his sword—he meant to punish, not kill.

   Diving down, he lashed the nearest dog across its sensitive nose. With a yelp, it bolted. The others froze in confusion, and Elfik seized the moment, whipping their noses until the pack scattered—all but the leader, who leaped and snapped at him with savage growls. Elfik dodged effortlessly, striking the brute’s nose again and again until, howling, it fled into the steppe.

   Elfik pursued, driving it far away before sounding his horn. The dog froze.

   "Listen well, beast," said Elfik. "I’ll spare you this time. But if you gather another pack and return, I’ll send you to the land of dog-eaters and leave you to your fate."

  With that, he returned to the forest, where magpies helped him round up the remaining strays. Each learned the same lesson. The dogs never returned, and the leader vanished without a trace.

   Elfik then helped the badger, Broom, repair its ruined burrow, even weaving wild raspberry vines around the entrance and teaching it to seal the gaps with clay. Broom boasted he could have handled the dogs alone—Elfik just smiled and nodded.

   As dusk fell, he declined to visit the marsh island where the other woodland creatures had taken refuge. Instead, laden with hazelnuts (wrapped in a burdock leaf by Broom and escorted by chattering magpies), he flew back to Mavochka.

   He landed in the clearing and called for her. She burst from the hollow, clapping her hands.

   "Oh, I’m so glad you’re back! I was so worried those awful dogs would hurt you. The hedgehog left not long ago—he said he was going home, sure you’d already chased the beasts away. He likes walking at night and had a good nap here today." She tugged Elfik’s ear. "Good evening! Was it hard to drive them off?"

   Elfik flushed slightly—he disliked boasting—and shrugged with a sheepish smile.

   "It all ended well. They’re gone, and that’s what matters." He tugged her ear in return. "Here, Broom sent you hazelnuts. He’s heard all about you and says he’ll visit." Elfik snorted. "Though he’ll never fit in your hollow—he’s far too big!" He handed her the bundle. "Oh, I’m starving!"

   Mavochka gasped.

   "I knew it! I made barley porridge—I went to the human fields while the hedgehog slept and gathered some grain. And there’s a salad of bird cherry leaves, wild garlic, and boiled buttercaps. Oh, and my new friend, the goat Belka, convinced me to milk her! I got just enough to fill that little pot you molded for me. I set it by the hearth, and now it’s all warm and creamy."

   "Ah, I know that goat," said Elfik. "She grazes with the village herd but often runs off. The shepherds curse her when they have to search the thickets. They don’t understand—some creatures just need adventure. Belka’s one of them."

   "I met her at the barley field," said Mavochka, grinning. "She’d escaped again. She’s so pretty and clever! We talked for ages—about everything, even humans. They’re so strange. Oh, listen to us chatter! Come inside—I’ll feed you."

   Elfik nodded, and soon they were in the hollow, enjoying Mavochka’s cooking. Over supper, they chatted about everything under the sun, laughing often, delighting in the day’s events. Near midnight, Elfik bid the cheerful girl farewell and flew home to his nest.

   Elves and little mavkas sleep at night too, dreaming vivid, bright dreams—so like their waking lives that they scarcely distinguish between the two. For them, it’s all one endless tapestry of existence.

Illustrations by Sergei Anikin
  2011