Then out came Miron, pressing a handkerchief over his nose. Tears brimmed his eyes. I think tears must have welled in my eyes because when he saw him on the steps, he perked up curiously.

"Were you crying?" He asked. The handkerchief muffled his voice.

"No!" I shot back in defense. "I'm glad-glad you didn't... die. Didn't mean knock you out." My voice tightened into a small whisper. Timidity seized me, twice his size, before this slight brat.

Miron nodded. "Well, I'm glad I didn't die either."

"No one wants to die, you know." I said.

Tears welled and fell from his eyes. "I can't die- who would care for Grandfather? He'll be sore when he sees my shirt! I promised I wouldn't fight at school."

"Does he beat you?" I asked, suddenly concerned for Miron.

Miron looked at me as though I insulted him. "No- he never beats me! That's what my father did all the time, that good-for-nothing. Grandfather came and took from him last summer. I live with Grandfather now. And he makes me happy. I want to make him happy and take care of him. He said if anything happens to me, he'd die of grief. I don't want make him sad- that'd kill him.  Grandfather's the best, and he's teaching me all he knows. That's why I promised I'd get the best marks and please the schoolmaster as best I can- it makes Grandfather happy."

I gaped wordlessly. So for all his vanity, Miron was motivated by his devotion for grandfather. I felt sick and sour with regret. I felt the same way for my father and aunt.

Miron continued. "You can bully me all you want, Andreika, but I'd wish you leave me alone! It's hard keeping my promise to Grandfather with the likes of you pecking at me!"

Humility stung me. For the first time, I loathed my bullying power in the schoolyard. Father never beat me, neither did Auntie, so I was more fortunate than Miron was.

I suppose nearly killing someone brings a soul to tears, since I found myself rubbing back tears with my fists in frustrated remorse.

"All right- let’s form… what do they call it?” I wracked my boyish mind for that word. “-truce!” I promised him. "But you leave us alone with your tattling. And we don't like games with so much thinking." I laid my terms of treaty with him.

"You might like them if you took time to learn." he quietly suggested.

"Well, teach me at your place- or mine. Don't let the others know. That's all they do- is make fun of me for not being smart enough. You're lucky because you're smart!"

"You're lucky because you're so strong. All the boys don't dare fight with you." Miron persisted, looking up at me from his bloodied handkerchief and gingerly pressing his bruised nose.

"If they pick on you, I'll beat them up. But you teach me to be smarter! We'll make a trade. And I might like your games after all. I might." I relented.

We shook hands and honored the deal. As we made our way back to the schoolhouse, Fedka taunted Miron.

"What a weakling, you are, Mirka! A little marble took you down! A little marble!" He heckled.

"Let him alone, or you'll get worse from me!" I growled and shoved Fedka with such force, he fell on his rump and scuffed the seat of his trousers. He gaped at me in disbelief.

I stood beside Miron, as though silently alerting the other boys the whelp was under my protection and that they had to leave him be.

“Sorry I nearly landed you in trouble, Matvei Stepanovich,” a suddenly repentant Miron extended a shy to an astounded Matvei.

“It’s all well now, Miron Mironovich!” Matvei then grinned in quiet relief.

From that day on, we remained friends. When he became a secretary for the village's ataman, he did favors for me in his office.

In turn, I repaid him equally with goods when they had me on furlough.

Yes, we were friends. Comrades. Brothers in arms.

If only February had never came that one year…