Snezhana walked along the edge of the ancient forest, as if treading the boundary between worlds — past and present, fairy tale and reality. Beneath her feet, the fresh earth squelched, soaked by a recent rain that, like a wise mentor, left behind a generous gift — mushrooms. The air was filled with the scent of wet pine needles, rotting wood, and something delicate, almost mystical — the smell of rebirth. The rain had passed, and now the forest was waking up, like after a long sleep, revealing its secrets to those who knew how to see. And Snezhana knew.
The year had been harsh. The fields yielded a poor harvest, the livestock was sick, and people, as always, hoped for a miracle, relying on luck. But this time, contrary to expectations, no one appeared in the forest. There were no mushrooms — or so everyone thought. Or rather, it seemed there were none. Because not everyone knew that true treasures hide not in plain sight, but behind a veil of oblivion, in the depths where no hurried, unbelieving foot had stepped.
Snezhana walked alone, in a simple jacket, carrying a basket and a bag — just in case. Her neighbor, the very one who always considered herself smarter than everyone else, saw her at the forest’s edge and even raised a hand to her temple, as if to say, “Snezhana, have you lost your mind?”
“Snezhana, where are you going? To the forest? You won’t even find a dry branch there!” she shouted, crossing her arms over her chest as if guarding her modest world from foreign hopes.
But Snezhana just smiled slightly and moved forward silently. She didn’t argue. Why bother? People usually don’t believe in what they cannot see. And she was going where she saw — not with her eyes, but with her heart.
The path. The very one her grandfather showed her when she was a little girl with braids and eyes full of wonder.
“Snezhanka,” he said, “if one day the whole world loses its mushrooms, they will remain on the little island near the pines. The soil there is special, and forest spirits protect that place.”
And she remembered. How she and her grandfather came home with baskets overflowing with porcini, milk mushrooms, slippery jacks — mushrooms that seemed to grow by magic in the thick fog and silence. The passage was narrow, almost invisible, hidden under the roots of fallen trees and thick fern thickets. Only the two of them knew it.
Now Snezhana stood at the edge of a swamp, listening to the forest’s pulse. Every step was difficult. Roots grabbed at her feet, branches slapped her face, and gnats swirled in the air like living dust. But she kept going. Because she knew: if you believe — you will find.
And then — ahead, through the trembling mist of fog, it appeared. The island. A small patch of land framed by pines like a crown. And on it — gold. Young porcini mushrooms, firm, with rosy caps, as if just grown from a fairy tale.
Snezhana sat down on a stump, a smile blooming on her face.
“Mushrooms don’t disappear,” she whispered. “They’re just waiting for those who aren’t afraid to go deep.”
Within forty minutes, she filled the basket to the brim, and the bag to the top. The mushrooms lay tightly packed, as if they themselves were begging to come home with her.
But the forest does not like its secrets revealed too quickly.
When Snezhana was already about to leave, a sound stopped her. Not the rustling of leaves, nor a bird’s cry — a human voice. Quiet, trembling, full of fear. It came from the other side of the island — where she planned to return next time.
She set down the basket, took a deep breath, and moved forward. Walking was hellishly hard. The ground sank, branches whipped her arms, and her feet tangled in roots. She walked in a goose step — as they taught at school, so as not to fall into the quicksand. Every step was a challenge to fate.
And then — she came out onto a small clearing.
Before her sat a boy about fifteen. He held an empty basket, clutching it to his chest like a shield. His eyes were red from tears, his face pale and scratched.
“Hey!” Snezhana called out.
He turned sharply. And hope flashed in his eyes.
“Will you… help me? I… I’m lost.”
“Well, well,” Snezhana sighed. “Where are you from?”
“We went into the forest with the guys… I fell behind… And now I don’t know how to get out…”
“Come with me. I know the way.”
“Do you… have any water?”
“Have you been lost long?”
“No… but no one knows I left…”
He took the bag with the mushrooms as if it was a symbol of trust. Snezhana saw how he trembled. He had spent the night in the forest. Alone.
When they reached the forest edge, the sun was already leaning toward sunset.
“Is it far for you?” she asked.
“An hour’s walk to Sosnovka.”
“Then head there,” she pointed. “What’s your name?”
“Ivan.” He looked at her gratefully. “When I grow up — I’ll definitely help you!”
Snezhana laughed.
“Run along now! Your family must be going crazy. Meanwhile, I’ll think about how you can help me. Just don’t get lost again!”
“Okay!” he shouted, whistling, and ran down the path like the wind.
The forest does not forgive the overconfident. City folk often came here, thinking themselves masters of nature. But the forest swallowed them — quietly, without noise, like fog erasing footprints.
And Snezhana walked home. The village was close. Her neighbor, as expected, was already peeking out the window, ready to sneer. But when she saw the basket, filled to the top with mushrooms, and the bag too — her mouth dropped open like a perch’s.
“Mishka!” someone suddenly shouted. “Why are you lying there like a seal?! Everyone’s gathering mushrooms, and you — nothing! People are carrying buckets, and you’re on the couch! Get up, I say!”
Snezhana smiled and went inside.
“Snezhana?” her father’s voice called from the room.
“It’s me, dad.”
“Well, mushrooms? Wow… You must have been on that island?”
“I was. And you know, dad… a boy got lost there. I helped him find his way out.”
Their house was quiet. Her mother had died long ago. Her husband turned out to be a traitor — he left her with a child in her arms. Snezhana returned to the village, to her father’s home. He met her with open arms.
“At least I won’t be alone in my old age,” he said then.
Snezhana got a job. The house was repaired. Life settled. But she never remarried.
“All the suitors will run away, and you’ll be left alone,” her father sighed.
“I’m not waiting,” she replied. “I have Lesha. He won’t leave me. Right, son?”
Lesha nodded. He felt awkward about such talks, but he knew: his mother was his support.
Time flew.
Lesha grew up. He enrolled in a construction college. He came home on weekends. Snezhana was happy, but something was wrong. Her son became thoughtful, his eyes anxious.
“Mom…” he began. “I got into trouble.”
He defended a girl from hooligans. But they filed a complaint against him. They made up a story, as if he was the aggressor. And now they demanded money. A lot.
Snezhana went pale.
“And the girl?”
“They were scared into silence. She won’t speak.”
“How much?”
Lesha named the amount.
Snezhana’s head spun. It was impossible.
The next morning she went to the bank.
“Mom, maybe don’t?” Lesha said. “I might be in for a little while… and it will pass.”
“Let’s not be foolish,” she replied firmly.
The neighbor, seeing Snezhana get on the bus, immediately sensed trouble. But she was afraid to ask. Snezhana could answer in a way that would last a week. So the neighbor “accidentally” went to the store — that’s where everyone would find out.
At the bank, Snezhana sat in a soft chair. A young consultant sat across from her.
“What amount do you want to borrow?”
She named a figure.
The young man wanted to object. It was too much for her salary. He decided to take her to the director.
When she entered the director’s office, the director suddenly froze.
“Is that… you?” he whispered. “Lord… fate!”
It was Ivan.
The very boy she saved in the forest.
He listened to her story. And not just listened.
He used all his connections.
He uncovered the truth. Found witnesses. Proved Lesha was a hero, and the hooligans were fraudsters.
They were arrested.
Her son was free.
And Snezhana… Snezhana, a few months later, got married. To one of Ivan’s colleagues — a kind, smart man who looked at her with admiration and respect.
When the neighbor found out — her heart almost stopped.
“Mishka!” she yelled. “Did you hear?! Snezhana got married! Now she has money, a husband, and a heroic son! And you — still on the couch!”
Snezhana sat on the porch, holding her husband’s hand, watching the sunset.
“See, dad?” she whispered. “We made it.”
And the forest, somewhere far away, seemed to answer her with the rustling of leaves.
Because those who believe, who go deep, who are not afraid of the dark — always find the light.
