Time Of Traitors

30

He walked away from the hut almost by touch, cursing to himself that he had wasted time on ridiculous tales. He again did not find any path, so he had to tear wounds through a windbreak. By this time, the stars were already winking overhead, the forest breathed deafeningly with the singing of crickets and night birds. Fortunately, lights soon loomed in the impenetrable darkness. A few hundred more steps and he heard singing.

In the light of the lanterns, a dense web of bridges, stairs, houses intertwined in a network of ropes and a dark rustling cover stretched out. High refs, woven by life and song, merged into one thundering mass, flaring up with all the shades of a holiday at a dizzying height. Long-drawn-out cries flew into the air, the whistle of pipes rose and the beat of drums rumbled. Bonfires were burning, ringing tambourines were dancing.

Life was in full swing somewhere high under the crowns, it was a different forest, into which Cres had no entrance. The lights are closer,