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The Big Frog advised him not to do so, because there were thousands of bad goblins, wild nymphs and devious sprites, but they didn’t listen. He packed his seven verses of song, put his initial into the belt and made himself on the way. When he reached the first hills of the Italic Mountains, he had a last view back on the skyline of his hometown, the headline of Alphabet Village and the winding of her own road, the Line Lane.

Far, far away, behind the word mountains, far from the countries Spain and France, there live the blind texts. Separated they live in villages right at the coast of the lagoon, a large language ocean. A small river flows by their place and supplies it with the necessary regalia. It is a paradise country, in which roasted parts of sentences fly into your mouth. Even the all-powerful person has no control about the blind texts it is an almost apologetic. One day, however, a small line of blind text by the name of Daniel decided to leave for the far World of Grammar.