9.The Great Hunt

Hey guys!

Just a short heads up, as at the end of this chapter Maria will perform at the festival. If you want to better imagine what the song sounds like that she sings, I imagine it is sung by a singer named Leléka and it's called Plyve kacha. If you want to look it up feel free to do so. I will write it in it's original language but will translate it directly too. Normally every line is double, but I left it out for obvious reasons, we don't need it in the story. Also for the ones who will be confused by the meaning of the song, a duck crossing water is a symbol of death (but also going on the other side ;) )

Enjoy <3

The whole of Hometree stirred with purpose and tension. The sound of hurried footsteps echoed across woven bridges and spiraling roots. Hunters gathered in tight-knit parties, war paint streaked across their faces, prayers whispered under their breath. Pa'li riders made their way toward the paddocks in solemn lines, while the ikran riders sprinted up to the highest branches, where their bondmates waited on woven platforms. The air trembled with anticipation.

In the midst of this ordered chaos, Maria found herself clutching Jake in a tight hug. His arms around her felt grounding, steadying her breath for just a moment. They exchanged a few hushed words — fragments of courage, inside jokes, mutual promises to stay alive. Jake offered her his signature crooked grin, but it didn't reach his eyes. Not today. Maria tried to return it, but her lips faltered.

Fear crawled up her spine like vines seeking sunlight.

Just minutes earlier, Neytiri had pulled her aside with unexpected urgency. Her grip was firm, her golden eyes too soft for a warrior. "Stay alive," she'd whispered, voice taut. "Please."

And before that, Nekawn — steady, comforting Nekawn — had kissed her forehead with trembling lips. "Do not leave us, my child."

That made two people begging her to survive.

And now—

"Maria." A deep voice. She turned just as Tsu'tey approached, cutting through the crowd like a wave. His jaw was tight, eyes hard with restrained concern. "Please watch out. I will be in the sky. I won't be able to protect you or Ka'ani."

He placed his hand on her shoulder. Just once. Brief and tense, but there. Then he nodded and disappeared into the crowd like a ghost into the trees.

Three. Three people asked her to live. That couldn't be good.

Her legs felt heavy, each step toward the paddocks more reluctant than the last. But then—there. The shape of Ka'ani, grinning and stroking the neck of a broad Pa'li. That sight steadied her. She could do this.

"Pale," she whispered, finding her own Pa'li — the one who carried her through her first ride months ago. The mare greeted her with a knowing nudge and a sound that rumbled warmly through her chest. As their queues intertwined, Maria felt the bond flicker and bloom like a flame catching wind.

You trust me, Pale seemed to say. I trust you.

"Let's be brave today." Maria whispered.

Ka'ani greeted her with a smirk that bordered on cocky. "Took you long enough. Thought you might run off and hide behind a tree."

"You wish." she muttered back, though the tension in her limbs made her voice thinner than she liked.

Before she could snap back at Ka'ani's latest smirk, a sharp cry rang out across the paddocks — deep and cutting, silencing the riders in an instant.

A warrior stepped forward from the mass of mounted hunters. Broad-shouldered and lithe, his stride was as assured as the pull of the tides. No older than Tsu'tey, but with the kind of presence that made others go still. His name rippled through the party in low murmurs — Takuk.

Maria had seen him only in passing, always surrounded by other seasoned warriors. Now he stood alone, and the energy around him shifted.

When he spoke, his voice rang out over the gathering like the sound of a war drum.

"We ride to guide," he declared, "but also to stand. The sturmbeest move fast, without mercy. They do not turn. They do not yield. You will feel their steps before you see them. Your job — force the herd to the open delta. Drive them there. Give the sky warriors clean shots."

He paused, gaze sweeping across the new hunters. "If you see the chance to make a kill — do it. But remember: their hides are too thick. You must strike the airway. Or not at all."

His eyes landed briefly on Maria.

"And watch your Pa'li," he said, quieter. More deadly. "These beasts do not slow. They only fall."

Maria's throat tightened. She swallowed, but it caught halfway down. Her fingers clenched tighter on Pale's reins.

Then — with a signal from Takuk's hand — they were gone.

The earth began to tremble before the beasts even appeared.

Thunder rumbled through the ground before they saw them — the sturmbeest. The herd moved like a flood, earth-shaking in its ferocity. The moment Takuk signaled, their hunting party veered left, galloping parallel to the herd. It was like riding beside a wall of raw muscle and fury. Maria could feel the fear creeping up again, a steady pulse behind her ribs.

Takuk howled from the front, his voice soaring into a battle cry. The riders followed in a wave, the ground shuddering beneath the weight of pounding hooves and heartbeats.

Maria clung to Pale as the mare surged forward, faster than she'd ever moved. The wind screamed past her ears. Her legs burned from the effort of staying upright. Beside her, Ka'ani let out a wild laugh — reckless and stupid and alive.

They rode parallel to the herd, close enough to feel the heat and the chaos. The plan was working — they were forcing the beasts toward the open delta. The formation held.

Above, the shrill screech of ikran riders tore through the sky.

And then — they struck.

Na'vi archers rained down from the clouds, arrows whistling through the air. A mighty sturmbeest to Maria's right let out a strangled cry and crumpled, blood pouring from its throat.

She looked up and caught a flash of blue — Tsu'tey, riding the wind like a god, bow already nocked again, his hair whipping behind him in a halo of speed. His mouth curled in a victorious grin as his ikran screamed above the storm.

Around him, the warriors shouted, roaring their approval.

And it worked. The sturmbeest turned, directed into the delta. Ikran shrieks pierced the sky, followed by the rush of wings. Tsu'tey and the others descended like spirits of the wind.

Suddenly, the hunt was everywhere.

A sturmbeest to her right let out a guttural bellow before collapsing, an arrow buried deep in its throat. Maria caught a flash of blue in the sky — Tsu'tey, triumphant, wind roaring through his hair.

Cheers rose. But Maria was frozen.

Panic slithered in her chest. Her bow felt heavier. Her fingers too clumsy.

She was supposed to be brave. She was supposed to prove herself. But instead, she hovered on the edge, watching others make history.

Then — Ka'ani.

The idiot.

She spotted him trying to shoot a sturmbeest. His arrow missed. The beast turned, its eyes wild with rage. Ka'ani was thrown from his Pa'li, barely managing to hide behind its body before the monster lunged.

"No—!" Maria shouted. She kicked Pale into motion, racing toward him.

"Sxkawng! Grab my hand!"

Ka'ani reached — but too late. Pale's leg caught under another beast, and Maria was sent flying.

Chaos.

Hooves. Mud. Screams. Maria couldn't tell up from down.

She rolled, narrowly dodging a crushing stomp, and scrambled upright. She could feel the bruises forming, feel the breath ripped from her lungs.

Then — the edge of the herd. A few more paces. She tripped on a discarded spear, falling hard. And ahead — another sturmbeest, charging straight for her.

Maria rolled.

A heartbeat.

A blur.

She hit a tree stump on her side, pain blooming across her ribs. But the beast passed — close enough that she felt the wind of its fury.

For a moment, she didn't move.

Everything inside her shook — bones, breath, will.

"Eywa..." she whispered, voice broken. "Please..."

"Are you hurt?"

She looked up. A young hunter on a Pa'li — someone she barely knew.

"My Pa'li stumbled. I got separated."

He held out a hand. She took it without hesitation, climbing onto his mount. They raced toward the edge of the herd.

When the dust finally settled and the herd was gone, the delta was eerily still. The river glistened with blood. The bodies of over a dozen sturmbeest lay twisted and massive in the shallow water, some still twitching.

Warriors were already climbing off their mounts, inspecting kills. The air was thick with the sharp scent of blood and adrenaline.

But Maria didn't care about the fallen.

Her eyes scanned desperately — searching.

And then — a shape. Slumped. Mud-caked.

"Pale—" she whispered.

She was off the Pa'li before it stopped moving, sprinting barefoot across the slick ground.

"Eywa—no no no—Pale—!"

The mare shifted her head slightly as Maria approached, groaning softly.

Maria collapsed to her knees, wrapping her arms around Pale's thick neck, sobbing against her warm, damp skin.

"Thank you. Thank you, thank you—" she repeated over and over, her voice trembling.

Then — a sudden grip around her waist.

"Maria!" Ka'ani's voice, ragged and hoarse.

He dragged her into a tight, desperate hug, his own voice unsteady.

She couldn't hold it anymore.

Her body crumpled into his, trembling so violently it made her teeth chatter. The relief was too much. The fear, the chaos, the guilt — all of it poured out in hot, silent tears.

"There's no need to cry," Ka'ani murmured. "Psht. You don't want the others to see, do you?"

She jerked away, wiping at her face. "Shut up."

But her voice was shaky. Raw.

Still — she looked him over quickly, relief spreading again when she saw no blood.

"Did you..." she managed to ask, "make a kill?"

Ka'ani grinned like a boy showing off a scraped knee. "Actually, I did."

He pointed proudly to a hulking sturmbeest nearby, its hide streaked with mud and blood, its massive eyes now empty.

Maria stared.

"Okay," she muttered, voice deadpan. "That's... actually impressive."

The walk back to Hometree was long and painful. Maria didn't ride. Her muscles throbbed, and her side still screamed from the fall. Pale limped slightly, but walked proudly beside her.

With every step, Maria felt the weight of the hunt settle heavier on her chest. She hadn't made a kill. She'd been thrown. She had panicked. She had cried.

The clan would talk.

They always did.

She grabbed Ka'ani by the arm, pulling him close.

"You can't tell anyone," she hissed, eyes wild. "That I fell. Or cried. Or any of it."

Ka'ani raised a hand with exaggerated solemnity. "I would never ruin your legendary hunt with the truth."

She glared.

He laughed.

But someone else had seen.

Someone she didn't recognize — a young rider. And maybe...

Maybe someone else too.

Tsu'tey.

She hadn't seen him since the hunt began.

But somehow... she felt his eyes had never left.

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Cleaning herself up after the hunt felt less like vanity and more like ritual.

The water was cool against her skin, washing away blood, mud, and something else she hadn't realized she was carrying — shame. She hadn't made a kill. She had panicked. She had cried. But she had also survived.

And now... she was here. Breathing. Whole.

The stream whispered around her as she scrubbed the dust of the riverbank from her arms, letting her fingers trail through the swirling current. Each motion was deliberate, as though trying to cleanse more than just dirt — as though trying to renew something deeper inside.

She'd survived something today. Something that not every Dreamwalker had. And she hadn't just survived — she'd run back into the fray for someone else.

You're not weak, she reminded herself. Not anymore.

As she wrung out her hair, long now — so much longer than it had been when she first woke in her Avatar body — a quiet sense of pride stirred in her chest. It had grown, like she had. She could almost hear her mother laughing softly while brushing it behind her ears, or her father's voice calling her маленька качечка — his little duckling.

And as if summoned by the memory, the melody came to her lips — a lullaby. Ukrainian. Grief-laced and ancient.

She began to hum.

A voice behind her, warm and familiar. "Beautiful child."

Maria turned, startled, to find Nekawn standing beneath the trees, eyes soft as dusk.

"I searched for you," the elder said, stepping closer. "Not seeing you with the others filled me with a sorrow I have not felt in many seasons."

"I'm sorry," Maria said quickly, wiping water from her face. "I was... dirty. The Tsahik asked me to sing tonight, and—"

"I know," Nekawn interrupted gently. "And I am glad. Your voice... it is a gift. A thread from Eywa herself."

Maria blushed, eyes lowering. "I just wanted to... do it right."

"You already do, child. You carry the weight of your people, and your old life, and still, you sing. That is no small thing."

The words hit her like a drumbeat, steady and deep. Her throat tightened.

"There's something else," Maria said, hesitating before she launched into the story of Mo'at — of what the Tsahik had said about transferring her consciousness permanently. Of finally becoming Na'vi, fully and forever.

Nekawn listened in silence, then placed her hands on Maria's shoulders and brought their foreheads together.

"I hoped this for you," she whispered. "When you first came, I saw it in you. That you were not like the others. You were not here to take, or to observe. You came seeking truth. And now, you carry our ways in your bones."

Maria's breath caught. The intimacy of the gesture, the tenderness of it, was overwhelming. A tear rolled down her cheek.

Nekawn smiled and wiped it gently away. "Come. I have something for you."

She handed Maria a folded bundle — a new loincloth and matching necklace-top in deep indigo and warm golds. The colors of Nekawns family.

"You will wear our name tonight."

And then, with careful reverence, she placed a small string in Maria's hands. A songcord. Two beads woven in.

"One for your taming. One for the hunt."

Maria stared at it. "You made this for me?"

"I did. And you will add many more beads to it, I think."

That broke her.

Maria dropped the bundle, flung her arms around Nekawn, and sobbed into the elder's chest. "You're like a mother to me. Truly. Thank you. For everything. I don't know how else to—"

Nekawn chuckled, cradling her back. "Enough, child. No more tears. We'll ruin your eyes before the festival."

She pulled away, fussing gently with Maria's hair. "Let me help you."

They worked together in quiet rhythm — Nekawn's fingers weaving through her hair with practiced care, braiding the front sections into soft, ceremonial plaits. She adorned the strands with thin silver cords and tiny beads that shimmered like river stones in moonlight, then placed a delicate circlet onto Maria's brow. It rested just above her eyes, a symbol of belonging — and of reverence.

When Maria stepped back to change into the gifted garments, she felt a flicker of uncertainty, almost shame, crawling up her spine like it always did. The cloth was beautifully made — dark indigo and soft gold, dyed in the colors of Nekawn's family — but her heart stuttered at the idea of wearing it. Displaying herself. Standing next to the other Na'vi women with their lean limbs and naturally elongated elegance.

Her body had never quite matched theirs.

Even now, as she dressed, her reflection caught her off guard. The necklace-top clung snugly across her chest — far more generously built than most Na'vi women. Her bust, a clear inheritance from her human genes, made the garment sit differently than it did on others. Her thighs were thick and strong, corded with new muscle from months of training, but still carried the natural softness of her original form. Her hips curved boldly; her waist tapered in. It was a body made for holding weight — for dancing, for running, for carrying. Not for blending in.

She had hated it, once.

Had burned with shame when she caught her reflection beside Neytiri or Saeyla or any other lithe woman of the clan. She had wanted to shrink — to disappear into the skin of someone more Na'vi, more worthy.

But not now.

Now, the curves that had once made her self-conscious looked sculpted — powerful, even — against the rich cloth and the glinting beads. The top hugged her in all the places she once tried to cover, and for the first time, she let it. The fabric across her hips dipped and rose with confidence, drawing soft lines down the muscles she had earned.

She ran her fingers down her side, breathing in slowly. Her body — this strange fusion of Earth and Pandora — would never be like theirs. But it didn't have to be.

She wasn't less.

She was herself.

Fully. Entirely. Irrevocably.

When she turned, Nekawn was watching her with quiet pride.

"You look as you were meant to." the elder said.

Maria smiled. This time, it wasn't shy. It wasn't small.

She turned once more to the polished shell beside the woven tree roots, just long enough to see her reflection in the flickering torchlight — hair crowned in silver, skin dusted with glow, curves unapologetically draped in color.

She looked like a woman.

Like someone real.

Like someone worthy of being seen.

And when Nekawn gently guided her toward the waiting crowd of women, Maria went without protest — her feet steady, her chin high, her heart pounding not with fear, but with anticipation.

Tonight, she would not hide.

Tonight, she would sing.

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The other unmarried women had already gathered, waiting for their cue. Neytiri stood at the center, tall and radiant, a feathered ikran cape flowing from her shoulders. The moment she spotted Maria, she waved her over.

"I don't know the dance." Maria admitted, walking stiffly.

"You will learn. There is no time to be afraid now."

"I'm not afraid," she mumbled. "Just... annoyed."

"At?"

Maria made a face. "Jake. You know damn well he's not dancing. Or singing. Or anything. I guarantee he sweet-talked you out of making him do it."

Neytiri laughed, the feathers of her cape trembling. "Of course he did. But you? You are stronger than him."

"That's not the point," Maria muttered. "Why is it always the women dancing and the men playing drums or drinking?"

"It is tradition," Neytiri said with a shrug. "It has always been so."

"Well, your tradition is sexist."

Neytiri grinned, not really understanding what Maria meant. "Then dance twice as well and make them all look like fools."

And so she did.

Or — tried to.

Maria was, by all accounts, a terrible dancer.

The movements didn't resemble anything she knew from Earth — they were all spirals and gliding footwork and strange half-turns that relied more on intuition than memorization. Neytiri guided her patiently, correcting her posture, adjusting her steps. But Maria kept fumbling.

"You are moving like a mountain tapir." Neytiri scolded fondly.

"Oh, thank you," Maria huffed. "Exactly the self-esteem boost I needed."

The drums were starting to sound from the roots below. The fire was lit. Time was up.

Maria took her place among the dancers.

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Drums thundered.

Flutes cried like birds in the wind.

Maria descended with the others, bare feet brushing against woven rope bridges lit by flickering torchlight. The crowd below roared their approval, hunters clapping and whistling as the women arrived.

Mo'at stood at the base, her ceremonial garb gleaming. Eytukan beside her. Warriors lined the space around the fire, and Maria caught sight of familiar faces — Grace, Norm, Jake (not dancing), and even Saeyla, who gave her a quick nod.

The dance began.

And to Maria's surprise, her body remembered the rhythm. She stumbled once or twice, but the music caught her and pulled her along. Her limbs moved in time, her feet finding their place in the circle. Around her, the Na'vi danced like wind — Neytiri in the center, hair flying, the feathers of her cape spreading like wings.

It was primal and beautiful and utterly wild.

When it ended, they collapsed into laughter and cheers. Eytukan stepped forward to give his speech, thanking Eywa for her bounty, praising the hunt. There had been no deaths. The clan was strong. Spirits were high.

Then the instruments resumed.

Singers came forward in turns — warriors with chants, women with sweet love songs.

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She didn't see him watching her.

From his place beside Mo'at, Tsu'tey tried to focus on the gathering—on the singing, the flicker of firelight, the rhythmic sway of bodies—but his gaze kept returning to her.

Maria.

Tonight, she looked more Na'vi than ever.

The firelight danced along the curves of her body, casting golden shadows over skin that was still slightly foreign, still not quite one of them—but closer now. Her loincloth and chestpiece clung with the ease of someone born to wear them, and the necklace she wore—woven by hand from forest bone and vine—rested perfectly at her collarbone like it had always belonged there.

She was fuller than the Na'vi women, softer in places, but he could see the strength that had been carved into her limbs by training and determination. Not sculpted by nature, but by will. Her hair fell in dark waves down her back, just brushing her hips, and for a moment—just a moment—he forgot what she was.

She looked radiant. Real.

And he hated himself for thinking so.

His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in the corner. She is a dreamwalker. A shell. A sky demon. He repeated the words in his mind like a prayer, like armor. But they no longer fit the way they used to. Not when he saw her like this. Not when something in him stirred—low and deep and beyond reason.

There was something wild in her, something untamed and lonely and shining. It made his chest ache with confusion.

Tsu'tey dragged his gaze away, scolding himself, biting back the heat blooming in his gut. He had known beauty—Na'vi beauty. Strong, graceful, sacred. But this was different. She was different. Like something Eywa had carved from two halves of a broken world.

He barely noticed when the music paused.

Only when an unfamiliar voice rose above the hush did he lift his head—and froze.

Maria was standing beside Eytukan now, the firelight soft against her skin, her hands clenched tightly at her sides.

Then she began to sing.

He expected awkwardness, the brittle edge of a foreign tongue. Maybe even shame.

But her voice—though uncertain at first, breathy and trembling—found its footing. It grew stronger. Rounder. Her words were in the language of her own people, but her heart poured through every note. There was sorrow in it, and longing, and something ancient, as though her soul remembered a home that her body never knew.

The entire clan fell silent, listening.

Even the forest hushed.

Tsu'tey stared, stunned. That voice—it didn't belong to a demon. It didn't belong to a body stitched together by human science.

It belonged to Eywa.

To the People.

To her.

And as he watched her sing, pouring every fragment of herself into a world that still didn't fully accept her, something inside him cracked—and he knew:

He would not sleep tonight.

Not until he stood before the Tree of Voices and asked for forgiveness. And clarity. And maybe, just maybe—permission to feel what he could no longer ignore.

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She stood.

And for a moment, the world forgot how to breathe.

The crowd fell into a hush — not by command, but instinct. As though Eywa herself whispered for silence.

Maria stepped into the firelight, the embers painting soft gold across her shoulders, her braids glinting faintly with silver and glass. She could feel hundreds of eyes on her, but it wasn't the attention that made her chest tighten — it was the weight of what she carried.

Her knees threatened to give, her heart a wild drumbeat against her ribs. Her palms were damp.

This was not a stage. Not a performance.

This was a ritual.

She searched the crowd for something to anchor her.

There — Ka'ani.

He caught her gaze and grinned, throwing both his thumbs in the air with the exaggerated enthusiasm of a schoolboy. His face was far too proud for someone who barely survived the hunt. The gesture was clumsy and too human — because it was human.

Maria had tried teaching some of the younger hunters human signs recently. Most of them had been confused, but Ka'ani had adopted the thumbs-up with obnoxious delight. He even used it when it made no sense — like after falling off his Pa'li or burning his tongue on hot tea.

She almost laughed. Almost.

Her lips quirked despite the nerves. It helped. Just a little.

Then she found Grace, standing in her Avatar body near the edge of the fire's glow. Her smile was soft, motherly. Encouraging.

But then—Tsu'tey.

He stood apart from the others, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His expression was carved from stone — unreadable, proud, distant. And yet... he was watching her. Not glancing. Not surveying. Watching.

His gaze was so intent it felt like a touch. Like it might hold her upright if she faltered. The flames danced across his skin, catching in the ridges of his face — but he didn't even blink. His entire being was focused on her.

Maria inhaled slowly.

Then again.

And then — she began.

Гей, плине кача по Тисині...Hey, a duckling swims on Tysyna...

The first note barely left her lips. It cracked — soft and too airy. Her throat clenched with panic.

But she didn't stop.

She closed her eyes, breathed in again, and opened her mouth.

The second note came clearer. Then stronger. Richer.

She kept going.

The strange syllables slipped from her tongue like petals falling into water — foreign to everyone listening, yet carried with such weight that the words seemed to speak for themselves. Her voice curved around sorrow and longing, winding like smoke through the branches of Hometree. It wrapped around each soul in the crowd like a thread.

It was not a song for applause.

It was not even for them.

It was a song for the dead.

For her mother, who used to hum it while brushing her hair.

For her father, who danced with her barefoot in the kitchen during long winters.

For the child she had been. For the world she left behind. For the pain she could never quite put into words — until now.

She was not singing about grief.

She was singing through it.

Her voice trembled, but she didn't falter. The fire cracked and hissed, but the instruments stilled. Even the wind seemed to still its breath.

And in the crowd, warriors who had never heard a lullaby before felt their chests ache. Elders who did not know the meaning of the words found tears sliding down their cheeks. Children stared wide-eyed, clutching their mothers' hands.

Tsu'tey didn't move.

He didn't blink.

He didn't know what the song meant, not with his mind — but his heart clenched with every word. It sounded like mourning. Like memory. Like she was opening a door he'd never dared to knock on.

Maria's voice, so full of raw, wordless emotion, made something tighten in his throat. It echoed with a loneliness he understood too well — the ache of having lost too much, too soon.

The final lines came like the closing of a prayer.

A whisper, a goodbye, a promise.

⸻

Гей, плине кача по Тисині...Hey, a duckling swims on Tysyna.

Silence.

Not one clap. Not a cheer. Not yet.

Only the fire, crackling softly.

Only the breath Maria released, shaky and full.

Then—cheering erupted. But it didn't shatter the moment.

It rose like reverence.

Like thanks.

Like awe.

Even Eytukan stood slowly, his voice carrying over the murmurs. "By Eywa... You did not lie, child of two worlds. That was not only a song — that was the sound of your soul. May you sing again, and often."

Maria bowed her head, overwhelmed, hands trembling by her sides.

She stepped back into the crowd as warmth bloomed in her chest — not just from relief, but something deeper.

She had been seen.

Truly seen.

And not as a dreamwalker.

Not as a visitor.

Not even as a Na'vi.

But as Maria.

Гей, плине кача по Тисині.Hey, a duckling swims on Tysina.Мамко ж моя, не лай мені.Mother, please don't scold me so. Гей, залаєш ми в злу годину.Hey, if you will scold me at a dark hour.Сам не знаю де погину.Oh I don't know where I will die. Гей, погину я в чужім краю.Hey, I will die on foreign lands.Хто ж ми буде брати яму?Who will prepare a grave for me? Гей, виберут ми чужі люди.Hey, strangers will prepare my grave.Ци не жаль ти, мамко, буде?Won't you regret it mother? Гей, якби ж мені, синку, не жаль?Hey, how could I not regret it my dear son?Ти ж на моїм серцю лежав.You were laying on my heart. Гей, плине кача по Тисині.Hey, a duckling swims on Tysina.