Peppery red tones began to stain the horizon behind the dense forest still hidden by the blackness of the night that struggled to sustain itself in vain. The still fragile rays of sunlight overlapped more and more, crushing the pitch black of the night. The white fog that covered the farm was touched by the blood-colored tone of the rising sun. The dense fog announced an intensely sunny day.

It was the summer of 2210 in the city of Campos do Jordão in the interior of the State of São Paulo. The dew was still spotless on the leaves and the morning was still tinged with the scent of damp grass. Dawn finally arrived, defeating the night. But there were those who didn't wake up. In the modern mansion in the middle of the tree-lined farm, the boy Kishar slept until lunch when he then got up and ate his meal in the company of Róger and Oslavo who came for a visit.

Róger was chubby and had beautiful green eyes. Oslavo was thin as a toothpick and had an elongated face. Kishar had simple features and exuded energy. Kishar was emotionally fragile, but his determined and persistent attitude managed to help him overcome his weaknesses.

Lunch, although tasty, didn't take long. The boys were eager to play. Whoever looked now at the scorching midday sun would be amazed to remember the dense fog of that morning. After lunch they went to the patio, to the bedroom, to the attic and wherever else they found adventure. They didn't see time pass and in the blink of an eye the afternoon was coming to an end. But it wasn't just any afternoon. It was special, but little Kishar didn't suspect it.

Kishar took his friends to his room. He opened the toy closet.

– I think there's still time for us to play a little more. Choose one of the toys for yourself.

- What is that? – Oslavo wanted to know, pointing to a folded fabric.

- That one? It's a poncho.

– A poncho? And how do you play with that?

– It's not a toy. – Kishar said, taking the folded fabric and opening it.

– Oh! – They exclaimed.

– My mother has one, just like this one. – Said Róger, but no one believed him. – What do you intend to do with it? It's too big for you to use.

– I don't know, but I like having it. I like to admire it. I got it for my last birthday. It was a gift from Télico, the ruler of the house. I don't see any use for this poncho, but I like having it close to me. – Kishar said, already folding it and putting it away.

Oslavo found some children's airplanes stored in a box.

– Airmobiles! You have airmobiles. Why did not you say it before?

They went down in children's airplanes through the attic window and went around the mansion countless times, chasing each other with toy weapons as if they were in a space war, but they couldn't fly around the farm in the airplanes, Kishar's mother had forbidden them.

They went down to the patio next to the pool and continued playing on the floor. They heard roars in the distance. They began to imitate them; they had fun and laughed. At the age of ten, Kishar was an adventurer and explorer. It was already past five o'clock in the afternoon. The friends said goodbye.

Télico saw the two boys leaving through the main gate and then looked at the forest with an enigmatic smile as he heard some roars that escaped muffled from the trees. He left the little one outside and entered the mansion. Kishar was now going to do what his instincts told him.

Like every afternoon, he ran into the woods until he finally found it. His cajá tree. It wasn't an ordinary foot like the ones I saw in the neighborhood. This one had grown straight and very tall. It even surpassed the tops of the highest trees on the farm. Climbing up that foot was a challenge for him. He was afraid, but his desire for adventure overcame him.

Next to the trunk he looked at the branches and, as he always did, he wondered how he would climb up. First he would put his foot there, hold on to a thin branch higher up, give a push to step on the first thicker and safer branch. He was imagining the climb from branch to branch.

When he thought he was ready, he overcame his fear and started the ascent. Each branch that advanced was a victory achieved and that made him happy. It got taller and taller and the branches got thinner. The space to be overcome between the branch where he was and the branch above was sometimes too big and so he had to use his imagination a lot and finally take courage and move forward.

The increase in height and the thinning of the branches made fear grow. But he was determined. He would reach the last branch of the cajá tree that could still support his weight. He advanced. He reached the last level. He was on the edge of his seat. Only a few thin, delicate branches separated it from the deep sky. The wind made that point where it was sway from side to side. He felt victorious. He had managed to win. He was on the highest tip of his farm. There the wind was cooler and more pleasant.

From there you could see all the green vegetation as far as the eye could see, lakes, trails, birds flying, low mists over the canopies and floating cities above the horizon in the distance. She felt happy.

These same sweet winds that blew over the tip of the cajá tree also blew there a few thousand years ago over the tops of the dense forests on an equally very special afternoon.

At a time when the white man had not yet arrived on that continent, a prosperous indigenous village rose in wide clearings in the middle of dense forests.

In those times, the Napacroro village had only been formed two generations ago. They were nomads who came from far away and decided to settle permanently in that region. They now constituted a well-structured village. The chief Anã Urá led the group with the help of the sorcerer and healer Caarô who knew the herbs and the art of sorcery.

The full moon was worshiped as a god. They called her Tuatu. On full moon nights, the village was always prepared to receive Tuatu. They were rituals of worship and offering.