This is an automatically translated description

Here is a falcon on a rock. Its feathers lie on the cold stone. Warm, weightless and elusive. This is the soul of a Carpathian."

You ask what kind of people are these? Those who live on the peaks and seek the heights of the spirit. Those who have travelled across Europe and America, guarding the truth from time immemorial. And by breaking through the rocks, they become rocks themselves. They are not just people, they are pillars on which the sky of the Carpathians is supported. Even if the life of a highlander is high and short, like a bird's flight, we do not pass it by. We, like birds, leave feathers of our love here. Our treasures and treasures. And we become the soul of these mountains.

My feather is my feather, forged on the stone of patience and polished with the crystal of waters. I follow it like a plough, and after the ancient wise man I say:

This book is in place of my body. This word is in place of my soul.