Today, as usual, you were paying the priest for the meat – a roll of thick, gray felt, smelling of sheep's wool and the sun of the pastures.

The priest's house stood alone on the outskirts of the village, distinguished from other houses by its impressive height and darkened by time and rain. The surrounding wild rose bushes weaved around the stone foundation, reminding of the sacred character of this place. The feeling of excitement grew with every step. The priest was feared, his unshakeable faith and rituals associated with dangerous sacrifices and invocation of ancient gods filled the hearts of people with both horror and deep reverence.

The priest himself, when he came out to you, appeared in all his majestic glory. He was taller than anyone in the village, with broad shoulders and strong arms that looked as if they had been carved out of stone. the face, illuminated by the dim light of the setting sun, seemed to be carved out of wood – stern, focused, with deep wrinkles telling of many years spent in the service of the gods. His gaze pierced through, but there was no anger in his eyes – only fatigue and some strange understanding.

— «Oh, it's you. Come in,» — he said in a low, thick voice that sounded like a deep echo of ancient times. The smell of incense and earth came from him, mixing with the smell of dried grass.