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There was a voice in Csoda, a voice that came to him long ago in the tall grass of his roving homeland. It was a voice that could not be contained. It sprouted from the fertile ground to flower in his cries as a small child. It reverberated through his youth, strengthened his movements, focused his mind. As soon as music was introduced to him Csoda found a playground for his voice in the deep vibrations and drum beats, and what had started as voice frolicked in the world as song.
It was his voice, dancing in the wind as song, joining with the distant thunder of storms that hovered and moved across far off horizons and raised the attention of the Nomadic Shamans and other leaders of his tribe. It marked him as a candidate who would be trained to learn more and to become more connected
