Prsti Prsti Bela Staza Eno Jebu Deda: Mraza

The village slept beneath a blanket of snow, the moon a bright lantern piercing the dark forest edge. Lina, bundled in her grandmother’s mitten-lined coat, stepped beyond the fence where the lullaby’s "white path" began. Snow crunched under her boots as she ventured deeper into the woods, the lullaby echoing in her heart: "Pristi, prsti, beše staza..."