For some reason, I feel exactly how I felt when I was nine years old, and under the shadow of a tree in the backyard of my fathers house, devoured page after page the works of the baron for the first time, until the last beam of sunlight let me do so, absorbed on it. I had to stop after each page to catch my breath, as I may have just been lying there, but my mind was runing away to who knows what lost worlds, along with a misterious character in the dangerous search for a rare, elusive blue flower that only growed in mountains, high above, where ver few people, if any, dare to go.