If there is something that I have learned all these years that I have been fortunate enough to live, it is that freedom and love cannot proceed seperately. They are born of the same seed, fruits of intrepid souls. It is not enough for you to desire, it is not enough for you to wait. You must dare and fight for that which is worth in life. So that life may have reason, and it is not unduly spent. I belong to such a generation. A generation which never feared sacrifice... Women of the little homeland... Greeks. Macedons. At the dawn of the twentieth century, the struggle for enslaved Macedonia breaks out, wild and relentless. The earth is soaked in blood as Hellenism bleeds. Turks, Bulgarians, revolutionary committees, fires, executions and innumerable sacrifices. Women of the little homeland... like Areti, like Foteini. They were molded with danger, they fought for their kind, their faith, their freedom. Their souls flared and cried at the same time. For those friends who had fallen, for the martyrs that they had experienced, for the secrets they held within. For the beloved child that one lost so unjustly. For the man that she loved so deeply yet was killed by the other with her own two hands. They may have been hunted, they may have been tortured, yet they were never tamed. Never. These women of the little homeland...
By Thodoris Papatheodorou. 624 pages. Paperback. Imported. Psichogios publications.