It is said that many years have passed since Zamfira had his pub at the top of Magura, located near the beautiful village of Setraru. With a lot of effort, with a smile and with love, she built her tavern – not only to have a good house to live in, but also to help travelers, with a bed and something to eat. Of course, this way, she also earns a bit more, enough to last her days. It is also said that she was very generous, even though she didn’t have any, that at her place, up on the hill, all those who stepped on her threshold had a glass of good strength, incredibly aromatic. Our Zamfira had become famous both for her extraordinary drink recipes, but also for her humanity and sweet speech, beautifully crafted towards peace and good understanding between people.

Amu, one hears that the time had come when the outlaws plundered the lands of the country and nothing was really in its place. The bandits did not rob only the rotten rich or the Turkish invaders, but all travelers. Those were hard times, and fear was in everyone’s eyes.
On the day our story begins, the weather was very bad in the village of Setraru. It was raining with such fury for whole days, that people looked up at the sky and rarely looked at each other.

Even in this snowy weather, a caravan entered the village. It was coming from far away, you can see, and the wheels of the nine carts were full of mud and chipped wood from the bitter journey. The Bidivis with the wet manes were weak and haggard, but most of all, they were exhausted from the cold.

Those who had come with the caravan were disembarking from the wagons, emerging from under the patched and wet moors, with the water trickling over them in rivers. They were a bit shabby and with the ridges covered by earthen hoods. They unshamed the horses and took them to a sura. He then asked left and right, whom he dared to catch outside, if he knew where they could find a certain innkeeper, Zamfira. Hearing that she was, as we might expect, on the wagon, at her tavern, among the seven covered with hoods and gray cloaks, one remained with the covered carts, where they were, in the rain, on a village street. The rest, they lay down on the road, through the forest, trying to reach the magura. But the road was not without dangers, and night was approaching.