Chapter 12
The Great Scooter Race
A spontaneous race against local youths tests their scooter skills to the limit. Baba Yaga's daring maneuvers and Anya's steady hand lead them to an unexpected victory, boosting their confidence.
The dusty track shimmered under the midday sun, a ribbon of earth winding through fields of sunflowers that bowed their heavy heads in the heat. Baba Yaga, her face a roadmap of laughter lines, gripped the handlebars of their trusty scooter, a bright red beast that hummed with a surprising vigour. Beside her, Anya, her knuckles white against the worn leather of Baba Yaga’s jacket, peered nervously ahead. The Talking Crow, perched precariously on Baba Yaga’s shoulder, ruffled his feathers and muttered, “This is madness, utter, unadulterated madness. We’ll be roadkill before the next cuckoo calls.”
Their impromptu journey, sparked by a shared sigh of boredom and a sudden, exhilarating impulse, had led them far from the quiet predictability of their village. Now, as they rounded a bend, a sight that made Anya’s heart leap into her throat appeared. A group of local teenagers, their faces alight with youthful mischief, were gathered by the roadside. They were astride a collection of sputtering motorbikes, their engines revving like impatient colts. One of them, a lanky boy with a shock of bright blue hair, grinned and shouted across the stretch of road, “Hey, old ladies! Think you can keep up with us?”
Anya gasped, instinctively pulling back on Baba Yaga’s jacket. “Baba Yaga, no! We can’t possibly…”
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