"<p>And in the evenings, when everything goes quiet and only the streams ring in the dreams of the forests, the beautiful bird wanders, cooing and hovering over soft clearings and badger bushes. It flies low and owl-like and has a long beak and the light of the first star is already flickering then and there is nothing more beautiful than it in the spring forest. Anyone who hunts knows: this evening wanderer is a game bird. And there is nothing more wonderful than a soft spring evening. Those who stop at that time, in a clearing, deep, deep inside the bait, know that those who make peace can never be right. Because you can't make peace. It is there, and it can only be found.</p>"