Danube driftwood walking cane

On an August night an uninvited guest knocks on the door: let me in for tea. We won't let you in. He knocks on the window - let me spend the night. We won't let you in. He howls into the chimney: let me warm up. The stove lid is closed, we won’t let him in. The guest is stomping on the roof, muttering a spell, calling on the wind. A big wind comes, bringing hail and earthworms. Old Strakhinya takes his stick, climbs out through the chimney onto the roof, and flies away with the guest and the wind.

Walking cane. Danube driftwood, sorcery.