Cinderella and Alangazar

And just then, from the shadows, stepped a broad-shouldered, furry, yet very tidy cook in a fluffed-up apron and a cheerful voice.

She set a pot over the fire and suddenly laughed:

– “That was me!” she said, wiping her paws. “I’m Masha – the bear-cook of the regiment!”

Everyone turned to her at once.

– “What? You?!” gasped Ertoshtuk.

– “The one from the story?” said Alangazar, scratching his chin.

– “Why didn’t you ever tell us?” asked the Prince.

– “Ah, there wasn’t much to tell,” Masha chuckled.

“I was just a girl back then.

And yes, I lived in the forest with the bears for a long time.

They taught me everything:

how to cook porridge,

pick berries,

start a smokeless fire.

I thought I’d stay there forever…

But then one day, a young, brave Cinderella came into the forest and asked me to join her enchanted regiment.

So I returned to the world of people.

Though sometimes at night, my little bear tail still tickles – it hasn’t fully forgotten…”

– “And your ears are still a bit round,” the Fox whispered.

– “And your paws make the best soup in the entire camp,” added the Prince.

– “So you’re both a human and a bear?” asked Ertoshtuk with respect.

– “Mostly,” said Masha with pride, “I’m a cook.

And to anyone who’s hungry – I’m a friend.”

That night, the soup pot was especially delicious.

Even Alangazar asked for thirds.

And Cinderella thanked Masha – not as a commander,

but as a friend.

Masha the Bear: Her Second Tale

Once upon a time, in the great Forest Kingdom,

there lived a bear.

But not just any bear – a special one.

Her name was Masha the Bear.

When she wished,

she was brown and furry,

with paws like cushions.

And when she chose,

she became a girl – graceful, bright-eyed,

with eyes the color of honey at sunset.

She could do everything:

climb trees,

make raspberry soup,

talk to squirrels,

dance with owls,

and of course – shift forms…

but only when her heart whispered it was time.

One day, as the pines were singing of spring, two visitors entered the forest.

The first was Arthur – a young man in a white cloak.

A cousin of the prince-king.

Polite, poetic, with a scent of almonds and verses in his pocket.

He came for a hunt,

but didn’t wish to harm a thing.

He was searching… for wonder.

The second was Medan —

a mighty bear from the northern mountains.

His fur was like frost-kissed twilight.

His eyes – like fire-lit caves.

He never spoke words,

but each of his paws was a promise to protect.

Both met Masha.

– “Who are you?” asked Arthur, seeing her in girl form by the stream.

– “I am one who lives by the voice of her heart,” she answered.

– “Who are you?” asked Medan, meeting her near the hives,

when she wore her bear form.

She said nothing —

just touched his nose with her paw.

And he understood everything.

Each night she danced in the meadow.

At first – for Arthur:

gentle steps, soft laughter, words like music.

Then – with Medan:

deep turns, breath like wind, two silent souls moving as one.

One gave her earrings of lunar silver.

The other – a stone from the mountain where he was born.

And one day, beneath the great tree,

Masha brought them both together.

– “I can be a bear. I can be a girl.

But I cannot become someone just for you,” she said.

“I will choose the one who loves all of me.”

A pause.

The forest listened.

Arthur bowed his head.

– “I fell in love with the girl.

I would wish you to be human – always.”

Medan was silent.

Then he lay down in the grass beside her.

– “I love you.

Whichever you are.

That’s what matters.”

And then…

Masha transformed again.

But not into a bear,

not into a girl—

but into herself.

Whole.

With a body that echoed the forest,

and a voice that rang like sunlight.

And sometimes,

in the royal gardens,

you might spot a young lady with sparkling eyes,

stroking the grass with a paw like a velvet cushion,

laughing as if she knows a little more than she lets on.

That’s Masha.

She can still become whatever she wishes.

But most of all —

she is fully, truly herself.

The Tale of the White Giant:

Where the Wind Comes to Rest

A warm scent drifted from the fire – sharp like juniper,

and slightly sweet, like dried raspberries.

Masha quietly poured herbal tea into mugs.

The rising steam curled gently upward – straight to the stars.

The White Giant sat a little apart, on a pile of pine logs.

He didn’t eat. He didn’t drink.

He just gazed into the dark sky,

where distant, unhurried worlds shimmered.

His palms rested on his knees.

His breath was steady.

As if everything inside him… had already settled.

As if he knew.

Accepted.

He didn’t speak at once.

First – silence.

Then – a voice.

Low, like an old pine groaning in a morning forest.

But warm.

Calm.

Alive.

– “When I was young…”

(Yes, yes – he smiled slightly, and light settled into the folds of his cheeks.)

“I was young once, too.

And one day… I found myself in a place

you couldn’t imagine – not even in dreams.”

Everyone fell still.

Even the tea stopped steaming —

as if it, too, was listening.

Only the sparks from the fire crackled softly —

like the whisper of time.

– “It was far. In the north.

Where night stretches on for months.

Where icy ridges scratch the sky,

and the wind sings songs without words.

I walked alone, through the blizzard.

In white silence.

“And then… I felt it.

The air shivered.”

He paused.

The Fox tucked in his tail and whispered:

– “And what happened?”

– “A staircase,” said the Giant. “Invisible.

Hanging from the clouds like a ribbon of mist.

I reached out – and touched the wind.

Then I began to climb.”

He fell silent again.

Everyone waited —

even breath itself seemed to pause.

– “I climbed… to where the wind comes to rest,” he said.

“There, cloud-islands drifted – like sleeping whales.

And on one of them… lived a flock of birds.

Bodies like falcons.

But their heads —

like old men, silver-haired and wise.”

– “Elder birds?” Cinderella whispered, leaning closer.

– “Yes.

They spoke only in verse.

One of them looked straight into my heart

and said:

‘You seek great power – but strength is still.

He who rushes upward may stumble downhill.

Know why you walk – and the path will appear.

But if you don’t learn… you’ll remain here.’

Silence returned.

Gentle.

Reverent.

Like in a temple.

– “I sat,” the Giant murmured.

“For a long time.

Listened to the clouds.

And I understood:

I hadn’t come for wonders.

Not for glory.

I came…

because my heart had asked,

‘What else is there?’

And it couldn’t sleep without an answer.”

He placed a hand on his chest.

Then – slowly, as if revealing a secret —

he took a tiny stone from his pocket.

Almost a speck.

And it glowed.

Softly, like a firefly.

Warmly,

like a mother’s hands in childhood.

– “It stayed with me.

When I came back – the staircase was gone.

But the stone… remained.

“Here on Earth, it becomes light.

Sometimes… I leave it by the pillows

of sleeping soldiers.

Especially those who fight harder in dreams

than when they’re awake.

The light helps ease their burdens.”

The Prince sat silent, eyes half-closed.

The Fox sighed – deeply. Truly.

Masha looked at the stone

as if it had fallen from the stars.

As if it were a promise.

Cinderella smiled softly:

– “So… you’ve been there.

Where the wind comes to rest.”

The White Giant didn’t answer.

He only looked to the sky.

And there —

in that very moment —

a single star drifted slowly across.

As if someone, very wise… and very light…

had silently waved to them from above.

The Tale of the Blue Giant:

The City Made of Sound

The fire crackled softly.

Sparks drifted lazily upward, vanishing into the dark sky.

Even the shadows seemed to freeze, clinging to the trees —

as if listening.

– “Who will tell the next story?” – asked the Fox,

casting a sly glance at the Blue Giant.