(vers. ita qui)
Once upon a time, in a far away place, there was a young warrior. Powerful body and dexterity made him a formidable opponent for those who undermined the peace of his native village. But in the young's heart, a long time since, had settled anguish. He was tired of the meanness and pettiness of the inhabitants of his village. Try as he might, he felt that the place was hostile and pretend to be at ease was no longer possible. One day, just at dawn, gathered his few belongings and walked stealthily to the north of the village in search of a new home. He looked into the woods for the last time his old home saying goodbye but without that emerged in him a sense of nostalgia. He walked fastly all day folloeing the course of a steam. Through the high treetops filtered sunlight now high in the sky. The air was soaked with moisture, the ferns that covered the ground around the trees were still covered by the night dew. After a few hours of walking he stopped and sat on a wet fir trunk fell probably due to a storm, to eat a few mouthfuls of rice that he had prepared for the trip. After the meal, the warrior felt his body full of energy and went on his way until, in the dense forest, not evening came. Collected a large number of branches and leaves artfully lit a fire and arranged a bed for the night a few meters from it. He had been taught as a child how to survive away from the village, how to get food and water and how to protect themselves from wild animals. Sitting in front of the fire he drifted from his memories and for a brief moment he was overwhelmed by a sense of nostalgia. But soon the good memories were matched to as many bad memories so his mind went back to the crackling of the fire that warmed his limbs. Intrigued by a pleasant rustle, however, got up and noticed that a few steps from his bed there was a large pond dotted with water flowers from pink color. That place must surely be unknown to travelers or otherwise they did not have a word to anyone in the village. Its waters were clear and reflected the pale moonlight that filtered through the high treetops. The atmosphere was eerie enchanted, moisture of plant and water did shine the air as if the stars had fallen from the sky to illuminate the place.
Once upon a time, in a far away place, there was a young warrior. Powerful body and dexterity made him a formidable opponent for those who undermined the peace of his native village. But in the young's heart, a long time since, had settled anguish. He was tired of the meanness and pettiness of the inhabitants of his village. Try as he might, he felt that the place was hostile and pretend to be at ease was no longer possible. One day, just at dawn, gathered his few belongings and walked stealthily to the north of the village in search of a new home. He looked into the woods for the last time his old home saying goodbye but without that emerged in him a sense of nostalgia. He walked fastly all day folloeing the course of a steam. Through the high treetops filtered sunlight now high in the sky. The air was soaked with moisture, the ferns that covered the ground around the trees were still covered by the night dew. After a few hours of walking he stopped and sat on a wet fir trunk fell probably due to a storm, to eat a few mouthfuls of rice that he had prepared for the trip. After the meal, the warrior felt his body full of energy and went on his way until, in the dense forest, not evening came. Collected a large number of branches and leaves artfully lit a fire and arranged a bed for the night a few meters from it. He had been taught as a child how to survive away from the village, how to get food and water and how to protect themselves from wild animals. Sitting in front of the fire he drifted from his memories and for a brief moment he was overwhelmed by a sense of nostalgia. But soon the good memories were matched to as many bad memories so his mind went back to the crackling of the fire that warmed his limbs. Intrigued by a pleasant rustle, however, got up and noticed that a few steps from his bed there was a large pond dotted with water flowers from pink color. That place must surely be unknown to travelers or otherwise they did not have a word to anyone in the village. Its waters were clear and reflected the pale moonlight that filtered through the high treetops. The atmosphere was eerie enchanted, moisture of plant and water did shine the air as if the stars had fallen from the sky to illuminate the place.
(photo's credits to Narandel)
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