By the time the sun fully crested the peaks, the fire was out. The barn was saved, and the village was safe. Ion sat on a stump, covered in soot, breathing hard. Just then, a familiar shadow crossed the grass. The cuckoo landed on a nearby fence post, tilted its head, and gave one final, quiet cucu .
"Canta cucu, bata-l vina," Ion muttered into his pillow, quoting the old folk song. Cuckoo bird, may its fault be cursed. Cover Canta alarma (Canta cucu bata-l vina)
The air in the mountain village was thick with the scent of pine and fresh morning dew. For Ion, the sound of the wasn’t just a part of nature—it was his personal, slightly mocking alarm clock. By the time the sun fully crested the
