In the village named Black lived four friends - One Eyed Grandpa, Beaver, Woodbot and Entliczek-Pentliczek. They all loved woodworking, that's why they became friends. One day Grandpa shared his dream - to surf the underwater worlds. Soon after, the friends started to build a submarine. Time was passing, they were working hard at full speed, with chickens running underfoot. Lazy Madonna grumbled that now there was no place for an apple to fall in the garden. Entliczek was particularly pleased with this phrase. As autumn was approaching, the villagers had a funeral for Daimbeg with musicians playing the Imperial Funeral March during the ceremony. Rumors spread in the village that he had been doing business with a local Rasta gang and had overdosed. So sad, he was an important man.
There was a vast and mysterious lake near the village. The silence of summer evenings was shaken by hundreds of mistuned frog voices. They were the owners of this place. No one before dared to go into these waters; mesmerized villagers observed the waters in awe from afar. Nonetheless, our friends were ready for the first run of the submarine. The fearless team went into the deep waters, despite all the warnings. Nobody saw them ever again.
Grandpa woke up lying on hot sand. His body didn’t feel the swelter. His eye was sticky with sand, his mustache was covered with some kind of powder. A couple of times he eagerly sucked hot air in through his nostrils. At that same moment the Sirens of the Desert solemnly began their song. Memories lit up in his head. Immersion. The Universal Frog at the bottom of the lake. Threeptile. Face-to-face meeting, so close. Telepathic communication. "How's life?" - was her question. What happened next?
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