Britannia - Year 60 As the early dawn shimmered across the horizon, eighteen year old Aniel breathed in the crisp, cold remnants of the night’s eerie fog, all the while stretching his medium built, bony frame. Standing on top of a flat stone located high upon a great hill, he took his fill of the view below him. How could he have forgotten such great and utter beauty? Had it been that long since they had been away from home? His gaze roamed the valley draped in countless shades of thick, luscious, golden yellow, green and blue hues. At its center, a large circular bare mound rose up, smooth as a pregnant woman’s belly. High atop, as a crown upon a king’s head, the sun’s rays illuminated the massive cromlech — the large stone circle — ever so slowly revealing its domineering greatness. With the seductive promise of a new day, light chasing dark, the night folded itself, gently leaving in its wake hidden streams and forest in the gorge below to be seen once more. He soon found the numerous colored tents with coat of arms that represented each family; lion’s, bears, deer, wild boars and the like. Never had he seen so many Celts united in one place. The memory of the scent that followed mankind wherever it went toyed with his senses. His mouth watered, thinking of the hot, bright, orange flames of a campfire twirling about happily as it roasted a piece of wild game upon a spit. Days of feeding on dried fruits and nuts were over, at least for the duration of the Samhain celebration. His recurring dream of biting into a juicy, honeyed piece of wild boar began to haunt him in a most perverted way. An insistent growl from his stomach ordered him not to walk to the awakening campsite below, but to run.