The second son, Vassili Tsarevich, began to beg: “Father, give me thy blessing; perhaps I can find her.”
“Go, my son.”
Vassili Tsarevich took one hundred thousand men, and set out on his road, on his journey. He rode a day, he rode a week, he rode a month, and two, and three, and entered such places that there was nothing but forests and swamps. He found there Baba-Yaga, boneleg. “Hail, Baba-Yaga, boneleg!”
“Hail, brave youth! Art thou fleeing from labor, or seekest labor?”
“I am seeking labor. I have heard that beyond the thrice ninth land, in the thirtieth kingdom, is a beautiful maiden, from whose feet and hands healing water flows.”
“There is, father; only thou canst not go there.”
“Why not?”
“Because on the road there are three ferries: at the first ferry they will cut off thy right hand, at the second thy left foot, at the third off with thy head.”
“It is not a question of saving my father’s head, but sparing my own.”
He returned, and said to his father: “No, father, I could not find her; there is nothing to be heard of that maiden.”