On a farm near the river lived grandfather Afanas, his daughter Maria, and a little granddaughter Olesya. And also an old mare. Her name was Zorka. Zorka was already eighteen years old. She had worked for grandfather Afanas since she was young - she carried hay, plowed the garden, and transported people to the town. Olesya grew up with her: when she was little, she rode on her back, and later she fed her with breadcrumbs from her hand.
But this fall, Grandfather Athanasius said:
— Mariyka, Zorka is old. She doesn't pull the harrow. Unless she eats the feed. We have to give her away. They pay for the difference, even if there is something for the money.
Maria was silent. Olesya heard it and trembled. "On the edge" meant a knife. The end of Zorka.
"Grandpa!" Olesya shouted. "Don't give it to me! Please!"
"And where is it going, child? Why waste food? We are poor.".
Olesya was crying. Grandma didn't help—she'd been gone for a long time. Mom Maria was silent—she didn't argue with her father. Everything was settled. The buyer would come tomorrow morning. They would take Zorka away.
Before Christmas Eve, in the evening, Olesya made her way to the stable. Zorka stood in her place, chewing hay, slowly and quietly. Her eyes were tired, kind.
Olesya hugged her around the neck. She leaned in. And cried — quietly, bitterly.
— Zorka, my Zorka. I love you. I don't want you to... I won't let you.
Zorka turned her head. She looked at Olesya with wise old eyes. She quietly rubbed her face against Olesya's shoulder. As they say, animals feel everything. Zorka knew.
Olesya sat down on the hay. She folded her arms. And began to pray — as her grandmother taught her.
— Saint Nicholas. I know you come to the children tonight. I'm not asking for candy. I'm not asking for anything. Just save Zorka. Please. Don't let Grandpa give her away. Let her die her own death, in her stable, on the hay. Let her.
Olesya sat with Zorka for a long time. Then she fell asleep, her head on her mane. Mom found her and took her to bed.
That same night, Grandfather Afanas had a dream. He dreamed that he was young — twenty years old, curly, in an embroidered vyshyvanka. And Zorka — also young, a foal, golden and restless. They race across a summer field, with flowers, with sunflowers. The sun is shining. Afanas laughs with a young laugh. Zorka neighs merrily. And next to him he sees — standing a tall old man in white robes with gold. With a miter. With a crutch. He smiles. And says:
«"Ophanas, your friend is faithful. She worked for so many years, fed you, and drove you. Don't betray her in her old age. Let her meet the last dawn on your straw. And not on someone else's cart.".
Grandfather Afanas woke up. He sat up in bed. His heart was beating fast. Zorka… his golden Zorka… how could he have thought of giving her away?
In the morning he went out to the stable. Olesya was already there. She was sitting next to Zorka, as if preparing to protect her with her own body.
"Olesya," the grandfather said quietly. "Don't cry. I've made up my mind. Zorka is staying. She'll be at home until she dies. I promise.".
Olesya threw herself on his neck. Zorka, as she understood, whinnied softly. Old, but happy. And grandfather Afanas remembered that dream until the end of his life. And Zorka lived three more winters. In a warm stable. On straw. Among her own. As a true friend, she deserved it.
💛 The love of a small child is sometimes stronger than the decisions of adults.