Ivan Franko

“ The night sky had cleared and the stars appeared over Tukhlia. All was peace and quiet in the Mongolian camp, but Maxim still lay as if dead in the middle of the road facing the charred remains of his house. The stars shone mournfully upon his pale, blood-smeared face, a faint rising and falling of his chest the only indication that here lay not a corpse but a living man.
This was the state in which the Mongols found him and at first had feared that he was dead, smothered by the smoke of the conflagration. ”

“ The entire Tukholian valley now resembled a fiery hell.
With savage screams and yells of delight, the Mongols danced about and ran about the conflagration, flinging into the fire everything that came to hand. With mournful groans the hoary witness of the folk-mote, the giant linden, toppled over to the ground, cut down by Mongolian hatchets. The air in the Tukholian basin became heated as in a real kettle and suddenly from the surrounding hills a fierce wind blew downward whirling the sparks around, tearing at the burning stacks of straw and the roofs, strewing them about like fiery shots. ”

“ At his feet lay the unconscious form of Peace-Renown.
Suddenly joyous shouts echoed from below. The youths who rode the waves on their rafts near the place where Maxim had disappeared with Burunda, suddenly caught sight of him as he floated up from beneath the waters, sound and whole, and greeted him. Their elation rapidly spread itself to the entire community. Even those who had lost their own sons, brothers and husbands, rejoiced in Maxim’s safety, as if with his return all their dear ones lost in battle also had returned.
“Maxim is alive! Maxim is alive! Hurray for Maxim!” ”