Some time ago, in Liakoura, in the eagle village of Dadi, I asked a child about eight years old: - Do you know Aris? - Yes, he tells me. I know him. - Have you ever seen him? - No. But I know him. - What is he like? - Three times taller than my father. And he has a big, big red horse. And behind him always follows a great eagle with a flag. Another time, in Trikala, I asked an "eagle child" who was crossing the enemy lines carrying messages to the guerrillas inside the hollow of a reed: - Giorgi, do you know Aris? - I know him. - Have you ever seen him? - I saw him with my own eyes. - What is he like? - He has long beards and a real star on his black cap. And when he speaks - even if it's snowing - it suddenly becomes very warm. And when the Germans hear his name, they hide like rabbits in the woods. A big red horse, an eagle with a flag, a real star, a lot of warmth - this is the Aris of children and adults. And I, who met him only twice, like the children, this is how I see him and sing of ARIS.