Stjepan, the oldest of the group, tuned his double bass under the shade of a massive oak tree. He looked at Rajko, who was polishing his accordion until it shone like a mirror.
Old Marica, who usually complained of aching knees, found herself twirling in the center of the square. The village children mimicked the fast footwork of their parents, their laughter blending with the sharp, joyful notes of the strings.
"The moon is rising tonight, Rajko," Stjepan said with a toothy grin. "And you know what they say about May."
The sun was just beginning to warm the rolling hills of Zagorje as the month of May arrived. In the small village of Bednja , the air smelled of blooming cherry blossoms and fresh dew. For the Faringaši, this was the moment they had waited for all winter.
As evening fell, a pale, silver moon climbed over the vineyards. The village square began to fill. Young couples walked hand-in-hand, and the elders sat on wooden benches, their eyes bright with memories of Mays long past.
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