Little by little, he started to pay attention to the chants, without understanding them for now, he could still pick up a few similarities with his native language. It sounded familiar in a mystical way.
He was gradually remembering the sinuous ache that slowly crept its way behind his ears. Mikel's voice, the Spanish prisoner that unwillingly taught him the language, echoed with the one he was listening to. The complexe constructs were dismantling one after the other and changing into a recognizable speech.
