Nikoláy overtook the first sleigh. They were driving downhill and coming out upon a broad trodden track across a meadow, near a river.
“Where are we?” thought he. “It’s the Kosóy meadow, I suppose. But no—this is something new I’ve never seen before. This isn’t the Kosóy meadow nor the Dëmkin hill, and heaven only knows what it is! It is something new and enchanted. Well, whatever it may be …” And shouting to his horses, he began to pass the first sleigh.
Zakhár held back his horses and turned his face, which was already covered with hoarfrost to his eyebrows.
Nikoláy gave the horses the rein, and Zakhár, stretching out his arms, clucked his tongue and let his horses go.
“Now, look out, master!” he cried.
Faster still the two troykas flew side by side, and faster moved the feet of the galloping side horses. Nikoláy began to draw ahead. Zakhár, while still keeping his arms extended, raised one hand with the reins.
“No you won’t, master!” he shouted.
Nikoláy put all his horses to a gallop and passed Zakhár. The horses showered the fine dry snow on the faces of those in the sleigh—beside them sounded quick ringing bells and they caught confused glimpses of swiftly moving legs and the shadows of the troyka they were passing. The whistling sound of the runners on the snow and the voices of girls shrieking were heard from different sides.
Again checking his horses, Nikoláy looked around him. They were still surrounded by the magic plain bathed in moonlight and spangled with stars.