As the Queen Commanded

Crushed by fear after her son’s words, the peasant woman rushed around in her miserable hut. She would clutch at dishes in panic and uselessly move them from place to place, then throw herself at the children, hug them, press them to her chest, and, whispering prayers, as if trying to keep them safe. Tears of despair streamed down her face. Nine-year-old Vanyusha, looking at his mother, cried bitterly too. Only Martyn frowned darkly, drew his dark brows together, and squeezed his still-childish hands so hard in his fists that it hurt.