When I was a girl, the people of town were not such hermits. They didn't hide in their homes and nourish their fears. A day stuck at home was a day wasted.

We found peace in the woods. And the wild. I knew the language of trees, and some folk knew the language of squirrels and wolves and bees.

It was somewhat happier then. Joy was a way of life, the natural order.

I met your grandfather, Nicolas. But everyone called him Nico.