It was a silent moment, hanging over the hill near Carnac. An old hill, as old as the land and the people.
It had been in the early days of this land, shortly after the ice retreated far enough, so that the coast and the land could be seen, be grazed upon by endless herds of rendeer. And with the animals came the people. Different people than before the ice. Taller, lighter, but still people open to the magic of the place. Settling near the small hill, they came to it, to bury their dead, and to do their rituals, of life and death, of birth, and rebirth. An endless dance a circle, started anew each year by the innocent dance of the young couple.And generations passed.
Stones where erected. Erected in a time, when people where just listening to rumors of weird merchants coming from the south. Bringing animals that obeyed their word, and seeds, that could be trusted to grow at the same place again and again. Rumors, of a wind of change, that was sweeping over the old lands. The stones, they hoped, would stem this tide, bring peace back to them, if only the rituals continued.And generations passed.
They had seen a new kind of people grow countless, wild, and happy, their faces painted blue for war, but also their bodies skylad and sweaty during the joyous rituals. Much wine and blood was spilled as sacrifice to the gods. Many a child was sired during those rauchous festivities, only to return a short few years later. To part take on the rituals of fertility... or be buried.And generations passed.
The stones had seen the foreigners from the south, long columns, with large sturdy shields, the gladio and pilum shining in the sun. Again blood was spilled, moreso than wine. Bodies strewn around the hill, though moaning in pain rather than lust. Inevitably, the heads of the conquered people had bowed. But the next year... the rituals returned.And generations passed.
Long since had the conquerers been conquered, by the sunny landscape, the beautyfull maids. Settled down, became one with the land and the people. New children born, a new language, different clothes. It didn't matter. The cycle continued, life, another generation, another death. Year on, year off.And generations passed.
It had been a silent process. First came only a few of them. Clad in simple clothes, wearing a simple wooden cross around their neck. Met with hostility by some, with open ears by others. But slowly, over the years, the rituals that had been held for hundreds of generations ... stopped.And generations passed.
Dozens of generations had passed without the rituals being held. Blood the hill had seen aplenty, and many a young couple had enjoyed the privacy of the stones shade. But never again the ritual had begun properly, at the right time, in the right way.
Muted sounds were waving over the hill, coming from the nearby farm. A bus had brought a group of young people again, camping out on the farmgrounds. Little did most of them know about the places history, despite their teachers best intentions. Little did they know, what would happen. But the hill was waiting.
Waiting for a innocent young couple to dance skyclad over the hill, under the midsommar full moon. Invoking the old magic, reviving the old rituals... and maybe opening a gate. Undo what had transpired, and give this place, this world a new start? Everything could happen in such a night, when time and space lost their meaning.
The hill just waited. And the warm sunny afternoon was laying on the field....