Once upon a time, two nations lived on opposite sides of the Great River. Each had their own towers, their own songs, their own legends. And between them there was a Bridge - old, but strong. It creaked, but held, because children walked across it, carried bread and went to sing to each other in the windows.

But one day, from one side of the river, they said that the Bridge was no longer needed. That from the other side they sang too loudly and too often looked at the stars in the wrong way. Then they set fire to the bridge.

The fire burned for a long time. The stones cracked. Soldiers emerged from the ashes. There were many of them. They had flags and orders. They built not bridges, but walls. Every day.

Since then, there has been only smoke on the banks. When the wind turns, one bank shouts: "They started first." The other answers: "We are only defending our own." They shoot across the river. Ashes fall into the water.

Sometimes wanderers come, carrying paper with seals and the words: "We must build a new bridge." But one bank says: "Let them first remove their own." And the other: "Let them first ask for forgiveness." And the papers turn to dust.

And the bridge...
The bridge still lies in the water. The stones are freezing.
And there is not a single one who would dare to become the first stone for a new bridge.