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On a high hill above Bihac, there stands a sombre monument to the Orthodox Serbs who lost their lives at the hands of the Roman Catholic Ustashe. It is a great, brooding monument, with a somehow primitive power. The hills and valley round us have seen and have not forgotten; they testify to the blood of martyrs whose souls cry out from beneath the heavenly altar. Across the broad, rugged plain, the wind carries a whisper of lamentation: like Rachel, Lika weeps for her children, but will not be comforted because they are gone.
-From the Diary of a Pilgrim
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