17th May 1977...

Brieg Keravel, a young man of 23, was sitting under an old broad-trunked oak, watching the sea behind the houses. He had a leaf on palm of his hand, he stared on it again and still he couldn't belive what has happened. First there is a germ. A tiny little germ with almost no colour, meaning one unimportant nothing in this whole wide world. But when light reaches this speck, it starts to grow. It gets bigger and bigger and when you have a good fertile soil it then becomes a tree. Too small to be seen at first but when the years go on it gets older, it strengthens and grows so that then you can sit under it, protect yourself from heavy rain and hold a leaf so that it covers your whole palm.
The oak will drop its acorns and so many other germs will apear on ground, each one bringing a new start of something that has already started many ages ago. Each one will grow and get stronger and then there will be plenty of them - maybe that's the case now. He hoped so.
He believed that today's events will once change lives to all of the entire "Bretagne region" But maybe it's too late. Surely too late for him. He was nearly going to cry when he looked back to what they've done to him as well as to all the other childred of mother Brittany. They've learned him French...