In a small village tucked into the side of the Caucasus Mountains, young Emin was known for his restless spirit. As the first winter frost began to coat the trees in silver, Emin’s grandfather, Baba Kerim, sat by the stove, pulling on a pair of thick, hand-knitted woolen socks.
"Emin," the old man called out, "put on your boots and your heavy socks before you go out to the stream." Soyuq Adama Ayaq Terefden Gelir
Baba Kerim shook his head with a knowing smile. "My boy, remember what we say: Soyuq adama ayaq tərəfdən gəlir. The cold is a thief. It doesn't climb through the window you’ve locked; it creeps in through the crack under the door." In a small village tucked into the side