The inhabitants placed their village on the edge of the field around two springs that sprang from the hill above the huts and flowed through the area to flow into a river called Zrmanja. Its narrow and green waters settled and sailed under the Velebit mountain, which, like a giant shield, guarded the breathtaking vistas day and night.

The villagers said Zrmanja was whispering about the past, but no one would understand. Some tried to understand this, so they watched as it split the meadows and rocky shores so that it flowed crookedly with its faithful curves, now calm, gentle, and quiet, and now it roars over the waterfalls. One moment is in the village, and already the next moment is under the bridge; now it crosses the mill wheels, and so to the blue sea under the constant accompaniment of the yellow-golden rays of the Sun and Moon.

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