About the book: 2011 / "...– Dear young man! – suddenly a quiet female voice came from somewhere above. The rustling of autumn leaves, disturbed by Boreas, the god of the north wind, could be heard in it. - Do me a favor, give me a ball - that’s bad luck, it rolled down somewhere. Paris looked up in surprise, where the call for help was coming from. On a ledge of a rock, about twenty elbows above the head of the Trojan prince, she sat down cross-legged, peering at the rocks growing at the foot of bushes, dry, wrinkled old lady…»