"What is this?"
"A horse and a cart, Father Gavril," she said.
"And what is it for?" he asked, a warning light in his eye.
She did not shy away from the challenge in the slightest. "It is for you. If the journey here left you in such a state, the journey back may very well do you in entirely."
"I refuse to be paraded about in such a contraption," he said flatly. "I have my position to consider."
"Your position will mean nothing if you are stricken ill again through your own stubbornness."
"And how will the cart and horse get back to their owner?"
"I will bring them, of course."
"Alone?"
"Oh, no. Not alone."
"Then who will be accompanying you?"
"I don't believe that is any of your concern."
"I am responsible for your safety. Of course it is my concern."
"We can discuss it later."
"No, we will discuss it now."
"Please get on the cart, Father Gavril."
"On the cart or not, would you please not stand and quarrel in front of my house?" the starosta asked, having emerged at the sound of Gavril's raised voice.
"My apologies, starosta," Varya said sweetly. "The Father is being quite stubborn."
"Me? I'm being stubborn?"
"Yes. You are."
"You are enough to drive me to madness!"
"Please get on the cart," she repeated.
"I will not."
"If you do not consent to ride in the cart, we will stay here for the night then. I am certain the starosta would be more than happy to provide you with a roof over your head, and I will fend for myself. On the bakery floor, perhaps. It is warm there."
"Oh, no," the starosta said, raising his hands. "Please leave me out of this."
"This is ridiculous," Gavril spat.
"I would do as she says, Popiy. My time with her was short, but even I learned to recognize that particular expression. You will end up in that cart whether you will it nor no."
Gavril grumbled, and Gavril groused, but in the end, Gavril rode in the cart.
"Now, see, isn't this much more pleasant?"
"No," he said shortly, legs dangling over the side. "I feel like a sack of potatoes."
"That is not a bad thing," she said, carefully leading the horse. The sun had melted the top layer of snow, revealing the slick ice beneath, and the footing was treacherous. "Potatoes do not get ill."
"But they do get peeled, sliced, and eaten."
"Who would want to eat you? You are entirely too sour these days."
"So who is coming to walk with you to return the cart?"
"Why does it matter?"
The cart hit a particular bump, rattling Gavril's teeth. Clenching his hands on either side of the cart, he fell into sulky silence.
"The birdsong is so lovely," she remarked airily to no one in particular.
Some time passed in silence. The going was slow, due to the condition of the road. Despite her abilities, even Varya found herself having to step warily. She was certainly not immune to how friction and gravity worked, even if she would not get injured from it.
"Tovarichka, thank you."
"For what?" she asked, navigating a particularly rutted bit of road.
"For being you," he said simply. "You always manage to distract me from the worst of what I feel. I know you do not enjoy being contrary."
"In all truth, Father, I do not," she sighed. "I find it troubling to even appear to be at cross-purposes with you. However, you seem to respond to the teasing, so I use it as I used the medicine."
"I know. That is why I am thanking you. This cannot have been easy for you, considering—considering everything."
"Nothing worth doing is easy."
"I just want you to know, that no matter what the future holds for us, I will always treasure our time together. It is important for me that you know this."
She sent a puzzled glance over her shoulder. "Father?"
"What is it?"
"You speak as if something were going to happen."
"Do I? Perhaps I am maundering. Attribute it to my ongoing convalescence."
"As…as you will."