Tonight’s post is of course fictional. I have borrowed from bits and pieces of multiple ancient cultures to create a story just for the entertainment. To the best of my knowledge no such culture ever actually existed. But, it could have.
I have an affinity for earthworks and megalithic structures. There’s just something that fires the imagination where the arcane past is concerned.
In my mind’s eye I can see a mist covered plane with primitive huts built from Mastodon bones and tall grasses. A thin wisp of smoke rising from a central fire. The huts are arranged in a wheel pattern. Each spoke of the wheel contains a hut near the hub with a primitive flag made of corse fiber. These are the dwellings of the chieftains. The patriarchs of this society have called a gathering. They are here ceremoniously to unite the clans into one nation. Their sons stand guard and the eldest is the chief’s escort as the ceremony begins. The people if clans sit silently in doorways of their huts waiting for the signal that an agreement has been reached. The Chieftains’ negotiations are mostly ritual as they sit around the stone slab while they are served bread and wine that was blended from a small portion of each clans supplies. By partaking in the meal each chieftain signifies his agreement to the gathering. As soon as the meal has ended each chieftain stands and faces his people while blowing the same note on a horn. At the sound of the horns the people cheer and the gathering has officially begun. For the next season of the moon there will be open trade between the clans. In some casses there will marriages between them. The clans are spread out across the land most of the time and this is opportunity to obtain fine quality resources that are not abundant in the home region. The gathering is so successful that it becomes tradition and that original stone table where it all began is memorialized in a stone circle.
Not far from my home there are ancient stone works and the property my father grew up on had a stone staircase that was covered with petroglyphs. They are silent witnesses to ages that are lost to history. Occasionally we find a stone arrowhead or a celt ( Stone axe ) in a creek or a field and suddenly we’re touching something that connects us to lives we can only imagine.
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