De La Primarie-n — Sus

On the stone sat Moș Pătru, but he wasn't carving wood. He was holding a small, crystal flute. He winked at Andrei and played a final, high note. The deer bowed its head—actually bowed—and vanished into the mist.

Andrei sat beside him, looking back down toward the village. From here, the Primarie looked like a toy box, and the people like tiny ants. He realized then that "from the town hall upward" wasn't just a direction; it was the boundary between the world of rules and the world of wonders. "Is the deer... magic?" Andrei whispered. De la primarie-n sus

"You're late, grandson," Pătru said, his eyes twinkling. "The mountain doesn't like to be kept waiting when the veil is thin." On the stone sat Moș Pătru, but he wasn't carving wood