- XI - The Statnes foundation
Crisp air this morning.
It’s dawn, I slept with the sacred bundle of Lituus at my side. I don’t dare freeing it from the Hittite hemp. Outside the tent you can already hear the buzz of the aristocracy gathered with ceremonial dresses. It’s people that don’t get up before the fourth hour of sun, even if it was thundering an earthquake tremor.
I go out in silence. The morning mist seems as shredded by the colours of the expensive fabrics that decorate the bodies of the bystanders. There is no noise except the deep breath of the pair of oxen that will serve to plough the sacred space.
The procession is formed spontaneously, without any word. We seem shadows coming out from the Petra Manalis, this because the hour is absurd not only for a noble, and for the
