For a long time I have dreamed up a world inside my head, although this world is less of fantasy and more of the hundreds of people I hold in the thing I call my cranium. So here I put all the people together. For the first time I am going to let these people have their say. This is a collection of short stories introducing my people to everyone, and clarifying them to myself.
My tale begins far out in the Swanian Ocean, the largest and the deepest of all oceans. And there is a great gem in the Swanian Ocean, a huge island called Lilonika, or Swania, as they named it long ago when the country was ruled by the birds.
And this gem called Swania is the most beautiful land of the earth.
In the East are the exotic seaside resorts, devoted to pleasure-filled pursuits and relaxation.
In the South lies the flat land of the Desert of Rhaina, where drought reigns, where water is scarce and poverty is abundant, where the sun shrivels the life out of everything that turns its face upwards.
To the West and the North of the Desert are the Brown Cliffs of Rhaina, a series of beige-coloured vertical heights like steps for the largest giant this world has dreamed of.
And beyond these Cliffs to the West is the Bay of Allecai, a tropical paradise where the temperature is just right all year round, and the six islands, large and small, nestle peacefully, secure in the knowledge of the protective walls of the bay, and yet undisturbed by any sight of the great land.
In the far West of the country we find a harsh country, where the frosts bite and the snows fall and the creatures do not care to live.
In the North the Jumelle Mountains rise up from the ground in their majesty, clothed in robes of royal pine trees, cradling smooth blue lakes and flower-sprinkled meadows within their nooks and folds, while awe-inspiring slopes rose into the clouds to great rocky peaks of coldness and death.
And in the heart of these mountains is Mount Swansia, the source of every stream and river and brook and douit in the country, the heart of the country, and the heart of the world, some say. There are other sacred places - the Eight Meres of Swania, where only the true-hearted can travel, and taste the water of tranquility in the blessed oasis; the Moorlands of Circus, a huge ring of mountains South-West of Jumelle, where the violetpine trees, the incense of Swania, grow on the moors, home to the community of violetear humming birds who are among the most faithful of all the birds - but no placed as sacred and as revered as Mount Swansia, the beating heart.