There’s an immature carmine-bird plowing the emerald grass-mantle with his small beak, his little wings and short legs disproportionate with his tiny and plump body; around him were mature carmine-birds standing with their long legs, slender bodies and erected presume their glistening copper plumage. One of them approaches, attracted by the funny movements of the little one. Its crystalline eyes reflect the passiveness of Carmine Valley, lands of legends and mysteries. I am Balaan Legeel, and you … again here? Well, the idyllic adventures of Ephesto continue …
