The grass was green and tender from the summer rains.

Bulbous roots were fairly popping out of the earth; the fens and the edges of the lakes were rich with things to eat, overhead and underfoot the horn of plenty was emptying itself without stint.
In this world Neewa and Miki found a vast and unending contentment.
They lay, on this August afternoon, on a sun-bathed shelf of rock that overlooked a wonderful valley.

Neewa, stuffed with luscious blueberries, was asleep.

Miki's eyes were only partly closed as he looked down into the soft haze of the valley.

Up to him came the rippling music of the stream running between the rocks and over the pebbly bars below, and with it the soft and languorous drone of the valley itself.