Notes

Chapter 1
This decision was spontaneous. There were several ideas: fishing, hunting, relaxing on the beach, a trip to a ski resort. The chosen option would have been hanging out somewhere at the very end, if one day Cheryshev, tired of the indecision and arguments in the team, had not asked: "Well, shall we go camping then?" And so we did.

After the defeat at the World Cup the national team needed some kind of positive emotional shake-up, so Cherchesov, looking at the doomed faces of the team members, decided to do something like a small trip to the countryside before the players were officially sent "to their homes and clubs". Of course, the support of the fans at the stadium and of the whole country was well felt, but it was obvious that the guys need to finish this stage on a positive note, to finish the show not with a dramatic murder but with the unexpected resurrection. Stanislav Salamovich did not insist: if someone wanted to hurry back to his family or on his own initiative go somewhere - he did not persuade to stay and spend some more time with the team members, moreover, on the first day he said that he would not keep anyone on a leash: go if you want. Cherchesov himself would not be able to go for health reasons, but he was not going to abandon the organization of the trip. Contrary to fears, no one even twitched in the direction of their hometowns and clubs, the atmosphere of some cohesion and united fighting spirit still prevailed in the team, so the Russian national team set off for the campaign in full squad.

The training camp took two days: quite fast, given the fact that for each player separately it would take a good week. All the members of the national team went to the store, where a decent amount of money was left in the cash register that day, despite all sorts of discounts on goods, and Cherchesov suggested that this was all dictated by the desire to get into the whole preparatory process of their little adventure.

Smolov, having lost last night to Zobnin in the wish cards, bought a bright green sleeping bag in flowers. Roma appreciated the choice of his friend and wanted to offer him the same pillow for a complete set, but got only a slap in the forehead. For Miranchuk they dug out somewhere in the warehouse two sleeping bags in bright turquoise colors, while the rest of the team settled for something more restrained and either single-color or with some unremarkable ornaments. It's not clear in front of whom to show off at night, but almost every player looked for something not only warm but also nice-looking.

They took eight tents: three with dark camouflage fabric, one yellow, one maroon, two navy blue, and a brown one, which was trimmed to look like the bark of a branchy tree. They also bought several light spare blankets, small pillows, and roomy backpacks. They took food based on what and how long they could carry on their shoulders. The players' endurance was much higher than that of ordinary people, but it did not alter the fact that they, too, could become fatigued. Taking canned food is certainly good, but they weigh not so little, so they took the arrangement of food and water in backpacks seriously: they didn't need anyone else to pull their back. The team really felt the spirit of some still light excitement and cohesion, and sometimes Igor, who carefully watched what the others were doing, felt as if they were all a big family, going to a war of their own devising.

On the third day, after throwing all their belongings into the transport that was to take them to the forest base, the team set off on their little ten-day journey before temporarily leaving for home until mid-August.

***

"What a territory," Denis whistled, warming up after the long bus ride.

"Maybe you meant to say, "What a dump?" Fedya Smolov raised an eyebrow.

"No, territory."

In front of them stood a tall three-story building, which could hardly be called a house - a whole cottage covered the forest and served as a kind of gateway to its vast lands. There was a small garden around it, a pond with a gazebo on a tiny island to the left, with two bridges leading to it, and a parking lot and, probably, an underground garage on the opposite side. The house itself was lined with thick timber logs that sat on a brick foundation. The windows were large, nearly two-thirds the height of the entire wall on the third floor, the frames covered painted patterns burned out of the wood, flowing smoothly to the sides and generally forming painted lianas, which only remained to be painted green to complete the picture. The roof was lined with dark red tiles, the symmetrical metal balconies were painted brown, and the front door, to which a stone path led, was carefully and invitingly opened as if inviting new guests into its domain.

A man rose from the steps, trying not to lean on his sore knee, and waved a hand in greeting, calling the players to come closer.

"Why are you standing there like strangers? I don't bite."

"Good evening, Pavel Ivanovich," Stanislav Salamovich said, holding out his hand to the elderly man. "How are things?"

"Everything is all right," assured the forester, "bears are not in season in these parts yet, foxes roam everywhere, and to be afraid of wolves is not to go to the forest."

"Wolves?" Golovin spoke up, raising an eyebrow.

"And you thought we'll be alone here?" Zobnin exhaled.

"Yes, we can tear these wolves with our bare hands if they stuck to us," Cheryshev said optimistically throwing his arms on their shoulders.

"They won't, we'll be at the other side," forest ranger interfered. "I - Pavel Ivanovich, I know who you are, so let's get acquainted. I run this shop," he waved his hand in the direction of the house.

"I leave all you eagles on his shoulders," said Cherchesov.

"They're sick, by the way, so don't be cheeky."

Pavel Ivanovich, whose last name was known only to a select few, had lived in these parts for a very long time. All his life he worked and continues to work as a forester and with the permission of the local authorities arranges small hikes with tourists who come to see the local scenery. And there was a lot to see: both the vast forest that stretched for kilometers in different directions and the rocky terrain in the middle, one of whose heights reached a thousand and a half feet. It was beautiful here year-round, both in the day and in the evening, but it was better to go hiking in the morning rather than toward night.

"Come into the house, I will see you there." Pavel Ivanovich stepped back from the aisle and began to drive everyone with his hand. "And in the meantime, I'll have a talk with your coach."

Igor adjusted the backpack hanging from his shoulder and went inside the building, immediately feeling the smell of fresh wood, mixed with something pleasant and sweet. The furniture was wooden, matching the whole house, the windows had lovely purple polka-dot curtains, and Akinfeev involuntarily smiled when he noticed a rug on the wall, and in the corner, there was a shelf with an icon and three candles. The setting brought back memories of his childhood when Igor was sent to his grandfather's dacha in the summer, where he liked to chase sheep on the field, play Cossack-robbers with the boys and steal sour cherries from the neighbor's plot, for which he always got a scolding from his grumpy grandmother when she saw her grandson soaked in red berries. In that old oak house, which, over time, did not even sag, it often smelled of wood, the pleasant antiquity of years gone by, and the sweet aroma of baked goods that filled the house from the early morning.

"It's nice here," sounded in his ear, and Igor shuddered in surprise, pulled out of his memories.

"Yeah," he agreed, looking at Dzyuba, who was on the same level as him.

"Ready to go, captain?"

Akinfeev shrugged uncertainly because he did not know how he would feel in the forest. Of course, he had gone with his grandfather to pick mushrooms, and they had stayed overnight a couple of times, but that was a long time ago, and then it was not scary at all, because Igor felt safe next to his grandfather and did not even think about the fact that he could be dragged away by Leshy right from under the side of his relative at night. Now, of course, no Leshy would hunt him, and it is unlikely that behind the opaque tree cover could hide any danger, but the uncertainty of the adventure of the trip, floating in the air, alarmed and at the same time stirred the blood, making him remain in anticipation.

"I'm sure it is," Igor nodded, forcing himself to lean against Artyom's shoulder as a laughing Denis came at him from the other side, apologizing immediately. "They're not a boring bunch."

"Come on," Artyom grinned, "you'll never forget this trip. We'll start pulling sticks with the numbers soon."

"Sticks?

"Well, there are twenty-two of us and only eight tents," Dzyuba stretched, suppressing a yawn. Fresh air always had a quick effect on him. "We didn't decide who would share the room with whom on the way."

"I don't know about everyone, but Alan and I decided a long time ago that we were going to sleep in the same... what?" Igor raised an eyebrow, noticing the strange look on Artyom's part.

"And me?"

"What about you?" Igor didn't understand.

"Maybe, I also want to sleep with you in one tent," Artyom pretended to be offended. "See, all you captains Igor Akinfeev are like that, first you make a tame animal out of a wild animal, feed it from your hand, and then you leave one to its fate, and you can not, because "we are responsible for those whom we tamed!""

Igor rolled his eyes, elbowing Artyom in the side.

"You're not like a fox, and I'm not like the Little Prince, I'm sorry."

"And the princess?" Artyom joked, and took a few steps to the side, smiling just in case. "Haven't you seen on the Internet that memes don't just do to your leg?"

"Fuck you," Igor jokingly swung back.

Of course, Igor saw it. And he saw not only the journalistic photos from the World Cup but also the fan creations, whose hands drew all sorts of wreaths or hearts on his head and called him and Artyom the King and Queen of Russian soccer. He had nothing against other people's creativity; on the contrary, sometimes it was even amusing to see what soccer fans were doing besides watching matches, shouting "Russia!" and drinking alcohol. But Igor really didn't understand why Korolev was the one. Apparently, there was some strange logical chain of reasoning of his own, which he was unlikely to ever get to. After all, let them do what they want as long as it doesn't break the law because even if Igor happened to come across some post that praised the love between him and Dzyuba (and that's where people come up with all this stuff?), Akinfeev would just ignore it because nothing ever happened between them, never did and never will.

That's what Igor really thought as he looked at the smiling Artyom, who childishly showed him his tongue and held out a stick pulled from the general pile. I think he said something to a saddened Dzagoev, only Akinfeev could not hear. Igor opened his palm to Dzyuba's satisfied buzzing over his ear and looked at both sticks, comparing the already identical numbers with the numbers "one".

We set out for the hike in the morning.


--
Chapter 2

"Okay, come here, everybody," said Pavel Ivanovich. "I explain only once, so you won't have any questions later." He unfolded a large map and jabbed his finger at a red dot. "We are here now, at the first entrance to the forest. Of course, you can get out anywhere, but there are only ten "official" ones. This one, as you understand, leads toward home."

"And the rest?" Gazinsky asked, scrutinizing the remaining nine circles on the map.

"Two of them to the highway, three just out of the forest, one to a small gatehouse, where I haven't been for a year, and the rest to the steppe. There further on in a straight line and in a dozen kilometers, you can come out to a populated area."

"And do you know how to get to each of them?"

"Sonny," Pavel Ivanovich grinned, "I've been living in these woods since childhood, so I know these ten well-trodden paths like the back of my hand." He showed his calloused hand for reassurance. "You won't get lost with me, and there are several landmarks in the woods for tourists like you. No signs, of course, wildlife is still, not a nature reserve, but a couple of colorful rags I pinned to the trees."

"And our route?" Smolov cut into the conversation.

"Our route will consist of six stops." Pavel Ivanovich took a blue marker out of his pocket and made several notches. "One for each day. I warn you at once: we have a lot of walking, so calculate your strength so that in the evening you will have an opportunity to put up a tent and light a fire, and not fall dead on the ground," he smiled.

"Has that ever happened?"

"It did," the forester nodded, "five years ago I was in a group with a lad of twenty-three. He looked so strong, so tough, he liked to show off to the girls, he liked to run in the woods, he liked to get ahead of me. We came to the camp and he went pale, took a step, and dropped dead on the ground. His heart could not withstand the strain," he summed up. "So, don't take into account that you are sportsmen, you should save your strength in the forest."

Pavel Ivanovich connected all notches on the map to one line. It went in a semicircle: began its way from the forester's house, went in the direction of the mountainous area, and gently flowed back, coming out of one of the "official" points. The route was a respectable kilometer, Pavel Ivanovich got used to such loads and did not worry about himself, hoping only that the eagles would not be exhausted the next day.

We set out exactly at seven o'clock in the morning, checking their backpacks several times for everything they needed. The main thing, of course, was water, matches, and a sleeping bag, and the rest was only a pleasant addition. Without food, you can survive, but without warmth and fluids is sometimes unreal.

***


The forest didn't seem quite normal to Igor. There was nothing remarkable: trees, grass, and insects, but there was something about it that made him feel strange. Either the sun, penetrating through the crowns of the trees, created the glimmering glare of the waking forest, or the clean air filling the lungs had a hand in it, or the atmosphere of the trip together with the team added some zest to the trip. Igor was sure of one thing: he definitely liked everything that was going on.

The first few hours the team walked in two lines, led by the forester. From the outside, it looked disciplined and at the same time funny, because they looked like high school students who were dragged out into the wilderness by their teacher. Many of the players had never been hiking, so for the first time, they tried to acclimatize and assess their surroundings before attempting to take a step or two away. The most experienced, so to speak, was Ignashevich: on his account three hikes in the woods when he was between the ages of twelve and seventeen. One of them was organized by the school, and it turned out, by the way, to be not very successful, because the students were undisciplined, went in clumps, which the teachers had difficulty breaking up, and almost at the very end of the hike they had to look for one student, who, as it turned out later, was not lost, but found his way out of the forest and wandered home, because he was "tired." On the second hike, he went with the guys from the summer camp, where he stayed for a week, and the third was organized by the soccer club, in which Sergey was a member in those years. In general, he had experience, but he also wanted to revive old feelings.

First, Igor could not stand it: he was tired of looking over the shoulder of almost two-meter tall Artyom who was ahead, then Kutepov joined the diversion of the captain, leaving his ranks and thus provoking Zobnin going behind. Anton Miranchuk pulled Golovin out and started pointing at something between the trees, while his twin brother joined the small group consisting of Cheryshev, Fernandez, and Smolov. Subsequently, the elements of the lineup began to gradually fall out, the links disintegrated, and after a quarter of an hour, everyone was moving forward either individually, in pairs, or in groups.

Pavel Ivanovich talked in detail about the beauty of these places and the animals that live here. It was as if the forest was divided into several sectors, and the "Bear Land," about which Lunev was so worried, was very, very far away. Bears in general rarely looked in these places, there is no place for them to turn around or even hunt, so they lived closer to the river, which is at the other end of the forest, and quietly caught fish from there, feeding not only themselves but also their families. There really wolves and Pavel guessed about the existence of a whole pack, but he did not tell the players about it. He knowingly led the route so as not to tread on someone else's territory and not to cause problems with the pack, which did not like when strangers appeared in their field of vision. After all, if the alpha is strong - not just chase people from their lands but chase them until he tears each one apart. And Cherchesov didn't give such a setup, so no one will die on Pavel Ivanovich's shift. He always carried a gun for safety, but it's better to be reinsured again and stay out of trouble.

Also in the woods lived foxes, but they were very cowardly, could attack only when it was necessary to protect their young. Even at night, they did not come to the campsites when someone had left a piece of meat or some other food by the fire: people were scared shitless. Naturally, the local ecosystem was also home to peaceful animals: various hares, squirrels in the trees, a bunch of rodents, and even beavers, whose two-meter high dam blocked one of the riverbeds. There was also the so-called "Deer Apiary": a place in the southern part of the forest where two flocks of deer lived together with a large cluster of bees in the trees, which liked the area with the lindens growing there.

"There's a name on the map," said Artyom, looking at the paper compass in his hands, "the Witch Circle, what is it?"

"The place is not very good," Pavel Ivanovich answered, rubbing the sore knee. "I will not say that it is lost, there are no swamps there, they are only in the north, but it is very unpleasant to be there."

"Why?"

"All kinds of things happen all the time: someone falls down on a level place, or gets nauseated by berries, or dislocates his little finger. There's also damn borage grows, the devil knows how he got there, so every time someone is sure to one bush, but crashed, so okay, but he also picks a couple of twigs, "the flowers to admire"!" And then he walks around with burns, aching with pain." Pavel Ivanovich looked at the incomprehensible Dzyuba and explained: "The grass is so poisonous. It looks like dill, but its umbrellas are in the form of white bunches with tiny flowers. I don't know what's so attractive about it, but you mustn't pick it, it burns so badly that it leaves scars for life." The forester rolled up his sleeve and showed Artem the scar on his left arm. "Twenty years passed, and it is as good as new, no ointments can remove it."

"And the "circle" why?"

"It's a place where there's an oval-shaped island. But, agree, "Witch's oval" sounds very frivolous."

Dzyuba nodded.

"We only the edge of the "Circle" will catch, otherwise bypassing is a very long walk, but it will be three days, so now you can relax, in the web between the trees just do not get into, or spiders on the head will bear."

Lunev somehow unhappily exhaled, recalling his long-standing arachnophobia, but the others at the words forester nodded: the prospect of wiping your face from sticky cobwebs definitely was not on the list of desires.

Artyom folded his copy of the map into his pocket, slowed his pace, and watched Igor go forward. Honestly, he couldn't quite explain why his gaze kept clinging to Igor and his lips parted in a sort of smile. Maybe Artyom felt a strange attraction to this man, or maybe he just wanted to get to know him even closer and evoke some positive emotion in him himself. He and Akinfeev were somehow similar: Dzyuba was aware of their captain's explosive traits of character when he took to the pitch, except that they were manifested there, and in real life Igor was somehow calmly serious, sternly kind, smiling and swearing only on the schedule. Artem, on the contrary, exploded everywhere: both in and out of the game. Sometimes he could get so wound up that he couldn't stop, and usually someone came to help him and tried to put down all the fervor. The list of such people was not long, and recently the last line of the list contained Igor's initials. Not to say that Akinfeev was the most successful in this matter, but at moments when he said something and unobtrusively touched his shoulder, back or hair with his hands - his temper slowly but surely faded away, and Artyom gradually calmed down. Or started up again, but not with rage, but excitement in his eyes.

Dzyuba quietly crept up to the captain from behind and, dropping his hands on his shoulders, sharply said:

"Boo!"

Igor flinched in surprise but managed to contain his surprised exclamation. He turned toward the silently laughing Artyom and smiled.

"Nothing to do?

"Nothing," Artyom nodded, putting his arm around Igor's shoulders, "so I decided to get to you and make sure that you are not hurt."

"How thoughtful," Akinfeev said.

"Well, the younger ones have always been taught to take care of their elders," Artyom specifically looked somewhere in the distance, so as not to catch the reproachful look in his direction.

"If you're a smart-ass, I'll send you to sleep outside as the eldest."

"And I, as the younger one, will complain to Ignashevich, and then he, as the older one, will tell off the older you for making fun of the younger me."

Igor hummed, smiling. Sometimes Artyom could talk some insane nonsense or do something that made his lips involuntarily stretch into a smile.

"By the way, I heard that the nights here are surprisingly very cold," said Igor, raising his head up and tipping it on Artyom's arm. "Our tent isn't as big as the others, so we'd better stay close to each other tonight."

"Are you afraid of getting cold?"

"No," Igor shook his head, "but we have to check if it's cold in the sleeping bag."

Dzyuba nodded and thoughtfully scratched the back of his head. There was a point he had missed in his sleep, so if these places have temperature variations and the nights are really cold, he might have problems. But it was too early to panic, so Artyom decided to stay on the usual optimistic note.

"Do you think you can see stars here?"

"Probably," Igor shrugged.

"Would you like to have a look sometime?" Artem asked. "Or are you just used to seeing sheep grazing?" he added and smiled slyly.

Dzyuba could have sworn anything, but he certainly saw Igor's face reflect first confusion and then embarrassment. Of course, everyone saw how he answered the interview questions, and the one about the height he will now remember for the rest of his life because literally everyone was trying to comment on how "nice" the answer that came out of Igor's mouth was. Akinfeev had no idea what was so sweet, but then it was explained to him that it was, firstly, a little hesitation before the mention of lambs, secondly, Igor's soft smile, and thirdly, a combination of the first two factors. With difficulty, Igor acknowledged that maybe there was something to it when the team once gave him a white plush lamb that flew home with some of his belongings.

Artyom rewatched that moment fifty times and couldn't stop, because he had never seen the captain like that. At first, it was funny and Dzyuba mentions the reason why he can tease Akinfeev, but then he felt that he can't stop watching the change of expression on Igor's face, ceasing to grasp the essence of his answer which he memorized by heart. Subsequently, his gaze stopped on that broad and satisfied smile that attracted him most of all.

"No," said Akinfeev firmly, "not only on lambs, but if you bring up the subject again, you will surely turn into one of them."

"Oh, I'm afraid!" Artyom laughed and, squeezing Igor in a big hug, let him go.

Igor measured him with a serious look and sent him away to Pavel Ivanovich.

By evening they reached the first camp. To say that no one was tired would be a lie. Everyone was tired, including Pavel Ivanovich, who just did not show his face and rubbed his sore knee at times. A part of the team began to build the fire, another part began to set up the tents, the rest scurried back and forth, hindering the first and the second more than helping. An hour and a half later the camp was ready, the fire was lit, and food was slowly being prepared by the forester and those who knew something about cooking.

Igor was terribly sleepy, so he was the first to unfold his sleeping bag and throw a small pillow over it. He and Artyom got a burgundy-colored tent, the smallest compared to the others, but big enough to hold two people and their things. Akinfeev didn't even have a proper dinner, snacked on an apple, and went to bed.

He did not wake up at night: either Artyom crawled so silently into the tent and spread out his sleeping bag, or he did not show up at all.