The youngest son, Ivan Tsarevich, began to beg: “Give me thy blessing, father; maybe I shall find her.”
The father gave him his blessing. “Go, my dear son; take troops and treasure all that are needed.”
“I need nothing, only give me a good steed and the sword Kládyenets.”
Ivan Tsarevich mounted his steed, took the sword Kládyenets, and set out on his way, on his journey. He rode a day, he rode a week, he rode a month, and two and three; and rode into such places that his horse was to the knees in water, to the breast in grass, and he, good youth, had nothing to eat. He saw a cabin on hen’s feet, and entered: inside sat Baba-Yaga, boneleg.
“Hail, grandmother!”
“Hail, Ivan Tsarevich! Art flying from labor, or seekest labor?”
“What labor? I am going to the thirtieth kingdom; there, it is said, lives a beautiful maiden, from whose hands and feet healing water flows.”
“There is, father; though with sight I have not seen her, with hearing I have heard of her: but to her it is not for thee to go.”
“Why so?”
“Because there are three ferries on the way: at the first ferry they will cut off thy right hand, at the second thy left foot, at the third off with thy head.”