Russian folklore 20 mins.

KRACK.  STOMP. CRASH. KRICK. STOMP.

STOMP.

The moving house stopped, standing upright, high above the grass.  Its chicken legs bent down and the house rested firmly in place.  Out of the chimney smoke rose, and a strange smell filled the air.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” asked the robed man.  He was perplexed as to why a house with giant chicken legs suddenly walked up to him in the middle of the night.

“The spell asked for good food and shelter, this seems perfect to me”, said the woman by his side.  Despite her cheerful attitude, she readied her sword as she walked over to knock on the door of the serendipitous hut.

But after banging on the entrance loudly, there was no answer.  As the friends were starting to walk away, out of the chimney burst out a puff of purple smoke, followed by a loud BANG.

A putrid smell began to emerge from the hut, and as the door slammed open, they were blasted by hot purple mist of the most terrible scent.  Out of the fog rose an old woman, constantly banging on a mortar and pestle.  She coughed severely as she walked over to greet them.

“Who the hell –HACK- called me at this damned hour?” she asked our confused travelers.

“I am Vasilisa, and this is my friend, Ivan.  We come seeking shelter.”

“And food,” added Ivan.

“Great…” answered the old woman, “Just what I need, beggars at my door.  Why do you think I put legs on this damn hut?”

Ivan and Vasilisa exchanged concerned looks, but the old hag barked at them again, “Relax, I was just cooking something up.  My specialty, frog and lavender stew.”

“Great, and who do we have to thank for this… special meal?” asked Ivan.

The woman stared at them with tired eyes, and began banging on her mortar again. “They call me Baba Yaga.”