Behind-the-Emblem

The year was four ninety-eight. It was the time in late summer when, though the flowers were still alive and the grass still green, the trees had just begun to turn the rich autumn shades of orange and red. In southern Crimea, in the foothills of the mountains, it was the time of year to relax. The area was largely a farming community, and the crops had all been harvested and safely stored for the winter. That meant that this was also the time for the annual harvest festival, and as the year had been a good one, the community was determined to celebrate it for all its worth. It was the afternoon of the first day, and everyone had turned ...