I woke up with convulsions that arched her back to a crunch. An indifferent full moon shone in the inky sky, showering the crowns of firs and pines with silver. Bones cracked, joints twisted with unpleasant clicks in the sinuses. A spasm squeezed her throat when Ilona, ​​instead of another scream, issued a hoarse moan.

The girl was drowning in a hot fever and pain. Mooing, she rolled over the moss and needles, ripping off her thin T-shirt and jeans with crooked fingers, which burned her skin with nettles.

The pain receded for a second, and I took a deep breath to arch herself in a new fit. She could...