Firestones


 

 

 

“Do you remember that when you met me I was carving some stone writings?” - asked the awaara, who, although being from another time, I considered to be the wisest person I had met in this world - “For I will teach you others carved by my ancestors who, as you know, are also your ancestors”.

We walked a lot during the night, over slopes largely protected by the spirits, to hide from Iruene, the demon in the shape of a shaggy dog ​​that, according to the awaara, stalked us while Ayur, the moon, was in its fullness. Everything the awaara did for me was because I belonged to a future time.


The temperature dropped quickly as we went up, and the moisture was creeping into my bones.


The air was condensed, and the breeze, light as it was, soaked my face, the only part of me that was exposed, apart from my hands.

We were in a Laurisilva forest, and I thought of nothing but my desire for witnessing the virginity of the morning.


“The symbols and messages that we create, we always place them as closely as possible to the sky, or in a place where the sun rises directly”, said the awwara, responding to a simple sigh of fatigue that I had unintentionally released.

“Here we will wait for dawn. There is not much time left.”


There we waited, seated in front of a great vertical wall of stone that served as a shelter from the winds. Then, dawn began.

The rays were leaving their signature randomly throughout the beautiful Laurisilva forest, until suddenly, the strongest and surest of the rays infused all its light in the center of the vertical wall, where perfect engravings of spirals appeared. They seemed, by means of the luminosity, to establish some type of connection with the sky.


“Clearly there is communication” - spoke the awaara once again, without me opening my mouth - “the stone of these writings is fire, born of the same earth which has always needed the fire of these rays to obtain life.”

That is why we were called to write here, in these stones of fire.