Grains of deeds handed down for millennia, ashes of endeavours from the past that settle down onto the ground, among the tiny little mazes of a cosy, tender moss. Moist emotions that rise up into the air at every single tremor, moved by the vibrations of the steps, both the heavier and the lighter: dust of stories never lived but able to saturate the air like scenes of a memory that, among the tree branches and on the surface of the rocks, take the name of “legend”. The wayfarer takes some rest among the foliage, spellbound by the seducting scents of citrus fruits: essential oils start to soar into the air in an epic fight against essences of oud and smells of vetiver, giving form into the present to an immortal tales of heroes.