I'm really not sure how all of the story will work out, but its a bit different than what i delivered in the story ideas section. The idea is the same, but it did change. What do i mean exactly? My original plan was for the Mongolian male to meet the white female, but it changed. When you'll read it, you'll see Enjoy it though. Yet again, feedback is welcome, and if the story isn't satisfying in some way, i will work on it in December...i hope this story has more meat to it than my other one... I promise i'll write more for those who really want to know what happens next...

A Night of Changes

1205 A.D. Steppes in Russia…
Darkness covered the skies, blocking out the stars, but not the moon. It is a night full of bad spirits. On that night, Olga could not sleep. Her husband on the other hand, slept peacefully.

“A woman must be tuned in to the earth,” she mutters. One look at her husband proved her point. “I can feel that something will happen…but what?”
Hours pass, the moon seems weighed down as it moves. Olga feels the coldness inside her body, freezing her bones. I am old, she thinks to herself. Old, but childless. How many years has it been since she heard laughter of her only son, Ivan? How many years has it been since his death? Olga stopped counting. She never counted, in fact.

My thoughts bother me more and more; they do not leave once I think. They continue to exist, and to come back. What shall I do? I cannot get sleep at this rate, and cannot help my husband anymore.

She stands up and throws on her shawl. I will walk, she decides. Just for a little bit. Maybe later I will sleep, and will not be so tired anymore.

A door opens, and she exists. The air outside is hot, sticky. The sky itself seems to be drooling, Olga thinks. And this saliva feels odd. Yesterday it was cold, too cold to wear a shawl. Bad omens, she decides. No trees are near, only bushes and shrubs.

A river is very near. She walks forward, and clutches the shawl tighter around her slender shoulders. It may be hot, but Olga does not want to lose the only shawl that she has. Her husband will be angry if she loses the shawl.
Noises break her reverie. Strange tongues surround her. Feeling the urge to not be seen, Olga ducks, and watches as a couple move from a bush.
A man and a woman, but nothing like Olga has seen before. The man and woman appear to look…different, not Russian. They must be from the south, Olga decides. She has heard legends of such people.

They talk in a strange language, not Russian. Olga sees the woman carrying a baby. She decides to follow them.

The man and woman continue to argue back and forth. I wish I could understand them, she thought wishfully. She wonders what the couple will do once they figure out that Olga is following them. She hopes she will not be killed.

They reach her house quickly. The couple stops, and the woman frantically points to the house and says something. The man groans and continues to argue with the woman in that strange tongue.

Olga watches as the man takes the baby from the woman and places him on the doorstep. The woman begins to cry and walks forward to the baby. The man grabs the woman’s hand, and together they flee from her house.
Who were they, Olga wonders. What were they doing here? She creeps closer to her house, and studies the baby. It is sleeping, with dusky gold skin, and hair as black as the ashes from a fireplace. “You can’t be outside this whole night,” she whispers. “I better get you inside…” Very gently she picks up the baby, cradling the head. The baby yawned, its tiny fists open and close, and began to cry. Uh oh, Olga thinks to herself. She hopes that her husband is sleeping and is not awake. “Hush, hush,” she whispers. She shakes the baby a little, but it does not deter him from crying. She sighs and decides to check out its gender.

She opens up the cloth tied around him, and sees that the baby happens to be a boy. Now…only to get him quiet and to figure out what to tell her husband. I hope he does not care, Olga prays to herself. He wanted children just as bad as I want them.

The baby is inside their small house. Olga carefully sits down on the only chair that is in the house, and begins to croon, in hopes of shushing the baby boy. “Olga!” A yell. It is her husband, already awake. “What is the matter? Why is there a baby crying here?”

“I’m sorry Slav,” Olga apologizes.

“You weren’t pregnant, you’re too old to have children. What is the meaning of this?” Slav, Olga’s husband, enters the room, blinking. “Ugh…you know the harvest is tomorrow…what is the meaning of this?”

“I found him lying on the doorstep.”

“What? What people could abandon their baby like that?”

“I don’t know. I took a walk earlier, and a couple walked past me. The woman was carrying a baby. I followed them, and they came to our house and placed the baby here.”

“Who were they?”

“I don’t know. They were strange. They weren’t from here.”

“Oh.”

“Here, you can see the baby.”

“Girl or boy?”

“Boy.”

Slav came closer, and he looked over the baby. His eyes changed, darkened as he studied the boy. “His family isn’t from around here.”

“Where could he be from?”

“I don’t know, but whether I want it or not, he will be living with us. It is the only right thing to do…”

“What would you want to name him?”

It took Slav a minute to respond. “Nikita.”

“Nikita. I always wanted a son with that son.”

“Go get him some milk, I will look after him.”

In that moment, Olga knew their lives have changed. But for better or worse, she couldn’t tell.

Nikita and Raisa

1212 A.D., Steppes in Russia…
Bright light dots the sky, the clouds are all around, but none cover the sun up. It is noon, almost time for balalaika to play the music, almost time for dancing after the long harvest.

“I’ll dance with Anastasia,” Seven-year-old Sasha brags to his friends. “She will want to dance with me.”

His five companions laugh. “I doubt it,” Nikita interjects.

“Oh, like she’d be dying to dance with you,” Sasha retorts.

“I don’t even want to dance with her,” Nikita watches with pleasure as his friends’ expressions reveal the concealed surprise.

“What? Then who will you dance with?” Stepan asks.

“Raisa.”

“You’re kidding, she’s ugly.” Stepan reminds his friends. “She’s nothing like the beautiful Anastasia.”

“Let the ugly have each other,” Sasha says. “Nikita is ugly, so is Raisa. Let him have her if he wants.”

“He’s really missing out on a great opportunity.” Stepan remarks.

“I can hear you, you know.” Nikita reminds Stepan.

“Go easy, foreigner. Don’t kill us now.”

“I hate being called foreigner, you know that Stepan.”

Stepan laughs. “I like calling you that. Its so much fun.”

Nikita feels water boiling up inside of him. Oh how he wants to fight with Stepan, to prove his point, so Stepan will learn to respect him. “You’ll regret it for calling me that, Stepan! You will regret it one day!”

“Today is not the day though!” Stepan retorts. “Today you cannot do anything about it Nikita!”

Just as Nikita was about to teach Stepan a lesson, Nikita’s adopted father came out. “Boys!” He shouts. “Nikita! No fighting with Stepan.”

“But—“ Nikita protests.

“Why must you always fight? Why can’t you be more tactful?”

Four other boys laugh and then leave Nikita. “I’m sorry father.”

“Your mother is waiting for you. She wants you to draw water from the well.”

“I will do it right away.”

Nikita walks inside, muttering under his breath. Hot water still boils in his veins, he still wants to fight with Stepan. Out of the five friends, Stepan is the thorn under his skin. He always makes me angry, always knows how to push my buttons, Nikita thought. He got the water pails and walks to the well.

For a minute, he stares at his reflection, at the unusual gold skin, the long black hair, and small brown eyes. I may be different, but I do deserve respect, he thinks. His parents aren’t his real parents, they decided to take him in and raise him as their own flesh and blood.

Most of people here have white skin, brown or blonde hair, and blue or brown eyes. None look like him. Even a child knows that Nikita is a stranger in looks. “Nikita!” high feminine voice. It is Raisa. “There you are, I thought I might’ve missed you.”

“I doubt you will,” Nikita remarked. “Where were you though?”

“Oh, I had to help my older sister braid her hair.”

“I see.”

“Are you busy now?” Raisa quickly puts down her water pails and walks up to Nikita. “After we deliver some water, I could play tag with you.”

“I’d like that.”

She grins. “Good. Were you about to get some water?”

“Yes. I could help you carry the water to your house.”

“I’d love that. I’m a girl, its too heavy for me to carry.”

Nikita laughs. He ties the pail to a string and watches as it goes down. A splash is created, and Nikita then withdraws the water and pours it into his pail. As he is doing the procedure, he cannot help but stare at Raisa. Compared with blonde haired and blue eyed Anastasia, Raisa could be called ugly. Her skin is pale white, her eyes large and brown, and her hair long and a very light shade of brown.

Her personality, however, is far more beautiful than Anastasia’s. Nikita cannot bring himself to tell her how he feels. After the water is ready, Nikita carries two heavy pails on his shoulders, carefully watching Raisa. “I will carry water to your house, for you.” He tells her.

“Thank you, Nikita.”

No talk is continued.

Nikita keeps his promise, and brings water over to Raisa’s house. “Thank you again,” Raisa says. “You really helped me out there.”

Raisa’s father opens the door and grunts. “Raisa, why you hanging out with that foreigner? You know he’s not from here, you know he doesn’t belong here.”

“I’m sorry father,” Raisa apologizes.

“Come inside, your mother and sister are waiting for you.” Her father turns his back then and walks inside.

Nikita continues to stare at the ground, wanting to find a rock and kick it very far away. “I’ll still hang out with you,” Raisa whispers. Nikita looks up and watches as Raisa goes inside the house.

He wonders, does Raisa also have the same feelings for him that he has for her? After pondering that question for a while, and deciding that it must be his imagination, Nikita goes back home. Raisa is simply being Raisa, sweet and polite. There is no way that she feels the same things he feels for her.

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Once you go Asian, you'll never go caucasian

your story is getting more and more interesting Sveta. Keep it up.

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ProAzn.com on Youtube:
http://www.youtube.com/ProAznCommunity

Wiki-ABOUT US
http://www.aboutus.org/Proazn.com

very good I want to know what happens to the young couple

thanks Proazn and Angellebabie i'll do my best.

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Once you go Asian, you'll never go caucasian

Sveta, I have read your story and it's very interesting. Keep up the good work.

Foreigner among them

1212 A.D. Steppes in Russia…
Nikita feels restless, as if something is missing. He is sitting, his head propped up on the palm of his hand. What is wrong? He asks himself. I should be happy, should be content, but in truth, these are lies. I am not content, I am still empty, and there is still something wrong. A shift, and he begins to think of Raisa. What is she doing now? Will she still play with me when the get-together starts?

Sound of footsteps. Voice of his father booms. “Are you sick, Nikita?” He asks. Nikita turns around to face him.

“No.” he replies. “I’m just thinking.”

His father laughs. “What about?”

“Just…stuff,” Nikita finishes lamely.

“Ah. You know you have to help your mother though.”

“I know.”

“You’re a good son,” his father praised him. “I’m glad your mother found you when she did, and brought you in.”

Nikita did not reply. His father walks away, and Nikita follows him. “Let me help you, father.” He calls out.

His father stops, and gives Nikita a scythe. “It is time you learn how to cut down the crop. You are a man, not a woman.” A pause. “Just watch, and do what I do.”

In few hours, Nikita is able to imitate his father and cut down the crop. In few hours, the celebration would begin. Even if his arms feel tired, and he feels hot and sticky, Nikita still cuts the hay. Soon, the scythe weighed a ton in his hands, and helping his father seems impossible. Finally, a break comes in. Nikita sticks the scythe into the earth, and tries to catch his breath. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes.

“Its all right. You just go and play with others. Some men are coming down here to help me.”

“Thanks papa.” Nikita decides to swim for a while, to cool down, and travels down to the shore of the river.

There, he takes off his pants, his boots made from hay, his hat and his shirt. Finally, he is completely undressed. He moves closer to the river, and gingerly touches it with his fingers. It is cold.

He wonders if his friends will show up. He hopes not, especially not Stepan. His hopes though, are proven wrong.

In that moment, Sasha, Stepan, and three other boys show up. It is too late to hide from them, much too late. The shapes become bigger, much more haughtier. They approach closer. Nikita knows they already saw him. “Hey look,” he hears Stepan call out. “Its that foreigner!”

“Get him!” Sasha screams. Nikita stands up and begins to run away from them. The boys don’t chase after him first, they stop by his clothes pile, and in moments, Nikita sees his clothes float down the river.

Nothing to cover him, no protection, Nikita realizes. He continues to run, but then he gets tired.

His muscles stop working, and he can no longer run. He falls down on the ground, and his eyes close. He doesn’t know what the boys are planning, but he hopes it will not cost him his life. The footsteps are coming closer and closer, laughter of swords surrounds his senses.

The noises stop then, and pain begins. Kicks from thousands of directions, pain all over.
Someone pushed him then, and the ground gave way. For few moments, Nikita could fly, but then he falls, and coolness of water surrounds him. In that instant, he knows. The boys pushed him into the river.

“Foreigner!” He hears Stepan’s voice scream. Other boys pick up his scream. “Go ahead, drown, you deserve it!”

He hears footsteps again, and to his relief, the footsteps walk away. What they don’t know, Nikita tells himself, is that father taught me how to swim. They don’t know how to swim, but I do.

He stretched out his body, just the way his father taught him, and began to swim toward the shore. Victory at last. The river gave away, and Nikita found the shore. He dropped on it, too tired to get up, and wonder vaguely if someone will find him, or will he be left to die?

Dreams of Reality

1212 A.D. Steppes in Russia…
Thousand of needles stabbed his skin. Then they began to burrow deeper and deeper, until the very bones could feel them. The air changed drastically, bitter winds flew through.

Yet he slept. Hours passed, the atmosphere becomes harsher. Is anyone looking for me? He wondered vaguely. Does anyone care?

Brilliant light did not blind him, did not call him from sleep. All around, bird noises could be heard. It is time for geese to fly here and to nest. Soon, his adopted father will show him how to haunt geese, he thinks vaguely.

His whole body begins to jerk from the atmosphere. Soon, he is moving from side to side, curled up like a baby inside a woman’s womb.

“Nikita!” a voice. Raisa! His mind screams. He wants to scream her name, to tell her where he is but instead, he is silent. Is it a dream? He asks himself. Maybe he is asleep, and maybe there is no Raisa near. “Nikita!” There it is again, there is her voice! “Where are you? Are you here?”

No answer from him. I must be dreaming, he tells himself. Raisa is far away, she not here, she is in dreams.

From Nikita’s perspective, few hours pass, and then he hears her footsteps running towards him. She spotted him! His mind screams. “Are you okay? Please tell me if you’re okay. I’m sorry for them, they were just idiots.” She didn’t notice my state of dress, his mind whispers. “Nikita,” more whispers. “Please wake up, please, please,” more pleading, more whispers.

Finally, he feels himself speaking. “I…Raisa…cold…”

Warmth is against himself. He feels someone lifting his head, and it is placed against a fabric of the dress. “Hush,” he hears her whisper. “I’ll keep you warm…” shaking goes through her body, he wonders what is wrong, and is surprised to hear her crying. She is a strong one, she doesn’t cry easily, he reminds himself. She can easily look people into their eyes; can easily tell them how she feels. “I don’t want you to die Nikita, I want you to live…”

He moves his hand, wanting to feel the softness of her hair. He feels her tears on his cheeks, and again wonders if dreams can be this vivid. “Raisa,” he whispers. Nikita finds himself unable to continue on, unable to tell her how he feels. Will I die here, not being able to tell her how I feel about her? What if she never finds out that I like her?

Before Nikita could think further, something soft touches his lips. The object is warm, wet, and soft, lots of little bumps can also be felt. What is it? Nikita wonders. He feels it moving around his lips, and finally it disappears. He hears a giggle, a squeal of laughter.
The giggling continues, and then Nikita feels something soft yet firm touch his lips. He feels himself responding, and his hands touch the silky softness of hair. What is she doing? He asks himself.

The object is removed, and something warm encloses around him. A hand full of the rays of sun is laid across his chest.

The night passes, and again it becomes bright and sunny. Nikita hears voices, but they are human, familiar. “There he is!” He hears his father shout. Hands pick him up, and carry him home.

Distressed cries of his mother ring in his ears. Two days pass, freezing and heat go into one body, and reside inside.

Soon, the fever passes, and Nikita gets up. “What happened?” He asks, groggy and unsure of himself.

“You went into the river,” his mother tearfully began. “Your father found you and brought you back.”

“I’m sorry I was so much trouble, mother.”

“Its okay, it’s a miracle you survived the cold night by yourself.”

“What do you mean? Raisa found me.”

“Raisa was at her house the entire night. She never found you.”

“What?” Nikita feels energy coursing through his body, and wonders if his mother is joking. “What do you mean? She found me, and kept me warm.”

“She did not.” His mother replies. “We found you, sleeping alone, on the cold ground. Raisa was at home the entire night…”

“But—“ Thoughts become scattered, Nikita cannot catch one, cannot form into the idea to express himself. “But that’s impossible!” he protests. “I felt her, I felt her kiss me, felt her warmth.”

“Sometimes sickness gives you strange sensations, and strange visions, Nikita. When Slav was lost a long time ago, and we finally found him, he was delirious, and kept shouting about a mermaid and how he belonged to her…”

“But…” he tries to protest again.

“Think no more of it Nikita. You just get well and then help your father with the crop, okay?”

“Yes mother.”

“Good boy, now rest and don’t worry about anything. Here’s some tea and lemon I squeezed inside.”

“Thank you mother.”

At that his mother turns away, and begins to do cooking chores. Watching her, Nikita feels a strange wave that what he had experienced was not a dream, even if his mother was telling him that it was.

Perhaps he could meet with Raisa later on, and find out the truth.

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Once you go Asian, you'll never go caucasian

Huh, i was kind of hoping that the last two stories are enjoyable...well whoever read them, thank you

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Once you go Asian, you'll never go caucasian

I like the tidbit about the mermaid. It was interesting! I hope you keep going!