Wind

Twelve centuries after Christ a lone rider set off towards the pale light in the distance. The night was cold and he was tired and hungry, thus he wished he could find some friendly people and a place to rest. He was a Templar knight, a bronze Romanesque cross swayed restlessly around his neck. The cold spring wind bent the cypresses and swerved through the stone dams. It forced him to wrap his long cape even tighter around himself. On the horizon he could see the outlines of a small settlement.

The friendly locals welcomed him open-heartedly. The warmth of the open fire and the strong ruby red wine quickly brought life back into him. The wind continued to wildly slam through the open windows in the upper floor. Through the wooden doors appeared the slender innkeeper’s daughter with a tray of food in her hand.

Thus, he tasted the Lokev prosciutto.