On the bank of the Mesta river there is a place, where Ive left my tribute to Bulgarian past. It isnt neither the khans time nor the time of the rulers, who have multiplied the territories of the country. Its survival time. With my senses of a person from other worlds, I find that sensitiveness of the soul, which Id recognize only by its traces. These are children. If there are lost souls in the world, they will find each other not to be lonely in their loneliness. And to take the real road, which will bring the freedom for themselves and for all Bulgarians. Its time to teach our children how to walk this road. I didnt know the land of the people without homes, names, families. I learnt about them when I stayed on the bank of the Mesta river in an autumn the villagers were harvesting the remains of their children among the grasses, and the ploughed land wasnt black but red. With blood. Then, for the first time, I learnt that it wasnt the colour of victory but of death. I didnt know it. In an autumn like that, a lot of years later, the villagers harvested the fruit of their happiness - their children, who became linked by marriage to conceive children. For me it means Bulgarians have survived. Again. It is a book about the truths of slavery and fortitude. After being a part of the Ottoman Empire for 500 years Bulgarians restore unity to their country from the ashes of the bones and blood of many ruined generations. And again they begin to set up their home with families and children as ever.