The boy had only one leg. His name was Janas. The other was cut by the same axe that the woodcutter used to cut down the mighty forests. The same axe, when roused by anger, took the boy of his leg. But it was not something abnormal or unusual because no one felt sad about it. All were happy in this small house, at least as long as the house was there.
But autumns come and trees wither. The big tree fell down and with it the nests and the new birds in them. Everyone died but the boy and no one yet cared. The autumn brought with it the cold winds. Winds from far which bring messages and do not reveal from where they bring them.
There was a certain history about that tree, although it’s almost uncertain that it was certain. They say that the tree was the oldest in the village. It was supposed to be living for the past three thousand years, and yet it never died. Then why did it, suddenly, out of nowhere fall today? The birds died, yet no shouts of grief. What had happened to this world? Why were the laws of universe tumbling down today? Why did the storm flood the whole village today? Did anyone have an answer?
As he sat on a broken bench beneath the tree, a raven flew from somewhere, sat on the other end of the bench and started croaking. He though it said, “Fly! Now! Fly! Now!”, but it never made any sense, and how would it? Did birds suddenly start talking to men to warn them of the future and what it held for man? No, everything was a mere misunderstanding, a misunderstanding between man and Nature, and a proof that there was something beyond human understanding, beyond the natural, Janas thought, as he limped away on his one leg. The Supernatural, they called it.