Upon waking, I lay motionless for a few moments, scanning my surroundings. Everything seemed normal; the warning ward hadn't been triggered. I crawled out of the tent and went about my usual morning routine. The entire time I was doing my warm-up exercises, drinking coffee, and breaking camp, nothing happened, and I no longer felt that foreign attention. Alright, time to move on.
I needed to reach the Mazorak stream, one of the tributaries of the Ziddi River. It flowed from a gorge located almost directly opposite the point where the settlement of Ziddi begins — this village stretches along the river of the same name. I wasn't aiming for the gorge itself, but for the spur between the Mazorak and Akhrut rivers. There's a tricky trail along this spur that can lead to the peak of Sangi Navishta. I didn't need the peak itself, but I did want to get beyond it. I'm speaking uncertainly because the trail is indeed tricky, sometimes disappearing — after all, nobody goes there. And I need to gain two kilometers in altitude. That I *will* climb isn't in doubt, but I might get lost and not make it in one day. And whether there will be a camping spot on the ascent is unknown. In short, the usual torments of a mountain hiker: am I going the right way, do I really need this, maybe I should just go home? The road isn't far yet, after all.
I reached the start of the spur quickly, fortunately it was nearby. I turned onto the ascent and felt it again — I was being watched. I didn't let on and continued climbing calmly, especially since the attention was coming from above, from the slope itself. And that's where I stalled when I managed to locate the source. The spot was an empty slope covered with small, crumbled stones. The attention vanished the moment I started staring intently. Hmm, how so? I stopped playing scout and walked straight to that spot. Stomped around there — nothing: no tracks, no scent. Marveling at the tricks of this unknown master, I shrugged and moved on. Well, what else could I do? If it wanted to, it would have revealed itself somehow, but this — just games, not worth playing along. I needed to stick to my plan. As for fear — for a hunter, intuition is paramount, and mine wasn't foretelling any threat. Logically, this was most likely those very... snow people Luka said were looking for me. They probably weren't revealing themselves due to the proximity of human settlements.
So I continued my ascent, occasionally sensing someone's attention. After a while, I stopped paying attention to it altogether, focusing on the trail and the climb. The climb wasn't easy — too rapid a gain in altitude, practically a mountaineering ascent. If it weren't for the extra energy from the Rustler, I doubt I'd have made it in one day. But as it was, with two long stops for snacks and rest, I reached the peak of Sangi Navishta by evening. Skirting the peak via a traverse, I managed to reach a hollow between the peaks of Sangi Navishta and Yakum before dusk.
I set up the tent, threw down the warning ward, and immediately went to sleep. It was already cold here, so it was better, while still warmed up, to crawl into the sleeping bag, breathe some warmth into the tent — and then sleep well without freezing. I'm used to the cold, and my gear is decent, but if small measures like this can provide a bit of comfort, it's not worth neglecting. The spot itself was practically right by the summits, snow lay all around. I was sheltered from the wind because I'd pitched the tent in a depression, and the peaks themselves provided cover. So, it was frosty, but not windy. The night passed quietly.
But in the morning, this idyll was disrupted. Waking up, I paused for a couple of seconds before starting to move. I realized several things at once: the warning ward hadn't been triggered, but at the same time, I knew that not far from the tent, just outside the ward, someone was there. This someone was simply present, doing nothing, as if resting. I hesitated another couple of seconds — nothing changed. I started climbing out of the sleeping bag. After getting dressed, I emerged from the tent.
Sitting on a rock about five meters away from me was a creature. At first glance, quite anthropomorphic in appearance, only covered in long fur. Wait, no, that's not fur! It was wearing clothes — both a jacket and, apparently, trousers — sewn from the same kind of pelt, the color blending with the hair on its head. Its face was overgrown — yes, *overgrown*, not covered in fur, but very thickly. This... or rather, *he* — he was clearly male, so to speak — was just sitting and staring, though it was unclear where. At first covertly, and then quite openly, I began to study him. That's when I understood: he was looking with an unfocused gaze. Just sitting there like that, staring off into nowhere, silent.
I stood for a couple of minutes. But if you think about it, I'm sort of the host here, and I have a guest. And I have my usual morning chores to do; I just got up. Well, alright, if the guest is silent, let him be silent. And I, as if nothing strange was happening, went about my camp chores. Relieved myself downwind, fired up the stove, melted some snow for water. When the water boiled, I made tea and rehydrated some porridge. I figured it was better not to offer the guest coffee — in case he didn't like the bitterness. But I added some herbs to the tea. While the porridge was settling, I opened and heated a couple of cans of stew and dumped them into the pot. Now I had to decide about dishes, but it turned out simply: I left the porridge for the guest in the pot, served myself into my own bowl. Poured tea for him into my mug, for myself into the thermos lid. I'd offer him my spoon too — I have a small folding one as well.
Right in front of this individual, who was not yet a comrade, I spread out a piece of plastic. Arranged all the treats on it, even put some hardtack and dried fruits in the pot lid. The table was ready.
"Well then, help yourself, dear guest," — oh, why am I talking like Luka? Am I nervous?
He seemed to move his head slightly. I didn't wait for him to make up his mind and started eating myself, or it would get cold. However, after a couple of seconds, the guest also began to eat, picking up the spoon I'd placed near the pot. We finished everything fairly quickly and started on the tea. Now he was sitting right across from me, which allowed for a closer look.
He was clearly larger than me — maybe not much taller, but more massive. His face — and it was a *face*, not an animal's muzzle — most closely resembled descriptions of Neanderthals: large features, a massive head, powerful brow ridges merging into a single line, a receding chin. Incidentally, he looked like a plumber from the housing office near my home in Russia. I remembered that plumber precisely because of his distinctive appearance. My current guest's nose wasn't red, but his gaze was similar. The plumber's gaze, of course, came from cheap booze, but from this one... there was no smell at all. Absolutely nothing. Apparently, another trick of some sort.
His clothing was very noteworthy: it was clearly made to give the impression of fur from a distance or at a glance. Up close, seams became visible, and it was very fine workmanship, not just roughly stitched pieces of hide. From his movements, I understood that part of his massiveness was artificial, something like a belt around his waist. Apparently, he carried necessary items there — like a concealed backpack, the kind used by shoplifters. Here, the goal was to conceal the very fact of sentience: just an animal, a big hairy ape. Clever, no doubt about it. After all, of all who have encountered him, no one knows for sure what he is: a sentient being or a large animal with rudimentary intelligence. Up close, I also saw that on his feet he wore something like boots, also covered with the same 'fur'. His feet looked unusual — they were very large. And, as I understood, this was intentional — something like permanent snowshoes. Such boots, if they leave a trace, would be very large and blurred, where other details of the foot could only be filled in by imagination, as indeed all seekers of the snowman do. For example, there were no tracks leading to the spot where he was sitting, and there was snow all around, albeit packed down. But *I* leave quite clear tracks on it, while his boots, apparently, have soft soles. In general, a picture was forming: this was clearly a created, meticulously crafted image.
After drinking his tea, the guest sat in silence for a while, then muttered something. Not a growl, not a snort, but something like "bugh-bugh-bugh" in a low, raspy voice.
"Sorry, pal, I don't understand you. But if that's 'thank you,' you're welcome," I replied, thinking to myself: now this is a problem. How will I understand him if we only communicate with gestures?
At this, he turned back part of his jacket and started rummaging inside it — as I had suspected, there was something like a bag there. After rummaging, he pulled out a cord and handed it to me. I wasn't in a hurry to take it, examining it first. On the cord was a semi-transparent stone, looking like quartz, worn smooth like a pebble. It was an oval plate, two or three centimeters long, about a centimeter wide, and half a centimeter thick. Two holes were drilled in this stone, through which the cord was threaded; the plate was slightly curved.
He, apparently thinking I didn't understand what to do with it, opened the cord with both hands and pretended to put it on himself, then offered it to me again. As he did this, his jacket opened a bit, and I saw that he wore a similar ornament himself. I took the cord and put it around my neck. Nothing seemed to happen. He muttered something again, and this time his muttering resonated in my head with understanding, something like: "Uga is grateful to you."
"Oh? And who is this Uga, and what is he thanking me for?" I asked in turn.
He poked himself in the chest with a finger and grunted something again. The impression in my brain was: "Uga." The sound didn't resemble the word "Uga" itself. Then, with the same hand, he pointed to our improvised table.
"Incredible," was all I could manage. Taking the stone off my neck, I began to examine it. Uga started muttering again, and I understood nothing. Ah, right.
I put the stone back around my neck.
Uga waited until I had the stone on again and, apparently, repeated his speech, which gradually began to form in my consciousness: "Uga will not say many words. Uga will take you to the elder... chief... shaman. He will tell everything. Stone... amulet, do not remove. This is important." From the halting way this impression came through, I understood that either this stone or my brain was searching for similar concepts in my vocabulary and glitching a bit, especially with "elder" — apparently, it couldn't find a more precise definition.
"Understood. Alright, I'll pack up camp now, and we can go to your Elder," Uga showed no reaction to my words, sitting with the same unfocused gaze. And he sat like that while I packed. When I finished, he stood up without a word and headed towards the Prostorny Pass. Incidentally, that was the direction I had planned to go anyway.
When he stood up, it became clear that he was indeed taller than me, despite walking slightly hunched. Uga walked ahead, and I must say, he moved silently, leaving no tracks, and he walked... gracefully, despite his massiveness. He was proportionally built, legs of normal length — meaning he was no Neanderthal. They went extinct about forty thousand years ago, and scientists have about a hundred reasons for it. According to one theory, because they had short legs, they couldn't compete with the Cro-Magnons, the ancestors of modern humans. During hunts and wars, they literally couldn't catch up during skirmishes. So, our ancestors would wound them and run away. It sounds like a childish theory, but it indirectly indicates that those Neanderthals had short legs. Other theories suggest they didn't really war much — since modern humans have a bit of Neanderthal DNA, two or three percent, meaning there was also some... intermingling. Most likely, they simply dissolved into the more numerous crowd of Cro-Magnons, who were simply more populous and reproduced faster. Well, the legs of this individual walking in front of me were perfectly normal, like those of modern humans. This doesn't clarify the question, rather the opposite — who is he then? Probably some other branch of ancient humans, unknown to science. Or maybe just unknown to me — I never specifically studied such things. Alright, I'll consider this question later. After all, where he's taking me, there should be more representatives of his kind; I'll look at them. And their elder might be more talkative than my escort.
We moved at a fairly brisk pace. We crossed the Prostorny Pass — it was nearby, I had camped right next to it. Next, according to plan, I was supposed to reach the Snezny Pass. After crossing it, I needed to skirt a rock outcrop and reach the Okno Pass, and from there descend into the Daraikunal River gorge, which stretches almost to Gushari. My companion and I also crossed the Snezny Pass, which was just a stone's throw from Prostorny. Once past it, we immediately turned towards the Pyati Pass, which already contradicted my plan. The Pyati Pass was also nearby, between the peaks of Kruglaya and Kharkov, and led into the Sangolt gorge. The Sangolt River was another tributary of the Ziddi River. So, it seemed we were heading back towards the Ziddi area, but further upstream. I thought: maybe it's just a detour, and we'll continue along the Sangi-Navishta ridge? But no — we began descending into the Sangolt gorge.
While we were in the snow zone, I observed nothing unusual. But as we descended to the start of the river, that's when I sensed it: something was wrong. But what exactly — I couldn't tell. Everything seemed normal, but there was some change in the environment that I couldn't quite grasp; I didn't even know what to focus on. The smell, perhaps? Yes, it smelled a bit different. But I decided not to dwell on it — I knew I'd start overthinking and searching for a black cat in a dark room. Another oddity: Uga walked without slowing his pace and didn't seem inclined to hide or conceal himself. It was clear the settlement was still far, but locals often roam around here — hunting, gathering things, collecting firewood, and so on.
Finally, it dawned on me what was wrong. There were no trails — no human ones, no livestock paths, only occasional animal tracks. But the most interesting part began when we skirted the slope from Mount Peshaya. Along the river, there should have been visible old coal workings, but they weren't there. The slopes around were pristine, without the paths that signify human presence. Very strange. I had been in this gorge before, but looking around, I was overcome with the feeling that I was here for the first time. The far bank of the Ziddi River became visible, where the road should be — well, the bank was there, but the road wasn't. This elder would have a lot of explaining to do. So we trudged along the gorge — the imperturbable Uga and me in complete shock at what was happening.
At the point where he intended to turn right, I turned left and decided to climb onto a spur to look at Ziddi — to finally confirm we weren't where logic said we should be. Uga saw I wasn't following him, simply found a suitable rock, and sat down on it. He apparently understood what was happening to me but didn't try to explain — just as he'd warned, really. After a while, I climbed onto the spur between the Sangolt and Obiborik rivers, from where the village of Ziddi should definitely have been visible. But there was nothing — no settlement, no roads, no old mines, no poles with wires. Just pristine nature: river, mountains, and that's it. I sat down to rest and collect my thoughts. Given that I don't suffer from topographical idiocy, it meant I *was* where I was supposed to be, but the place was clearly different.
Adding it all up, the conclusion was: I am currently in another world, as Luka had told me. That is, in the separate world of these snow people — it's unlikely they call themselves that. So, this is how they hide, while probably living practically in the same places as humans. It seems to be a kind of parallel world with its own peculiarities. However, it's too early to judge — I haven't seen their settlements or heard of other representatives of their kind besides the mentioned elder. I need to go back down to my escort, and then we'll see how our journey through this parallel world of the snow people ends.
