His father had disappeared weeks ago when she appeared on the doorstep of his parents’ house. If you could’ve called the shack a house at all. It was a shabby little wooden hut in the green foothills of the Southern Carpathians, that had been falling into disrepair for decades at the course of the Arges River. Why his parents had decided to raise their son on this godforsaken piece of land was a mystery to the boy. The soil was not particularly fertile and difficult to cultivate. Field work turned out to be a real backbreaking job. For a child, there was little variety here, if disregarding the adventurous terrain of the valley’s swampy forests. But those were his whole happiness.
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