Something happened while Francesco was picking the flies from the hive’s sticky exterior (some which were still alive and buzzing tenuously) … he had a vision.
This, in itself, was not unusual, as Francis had many visions frequently. But this episode was very different to the usual strand of images that would flit in and around his head parading their stories - this one was sombre and unrecognisable.
With his mind's eye he saw a line of army trucks following each other through his cathedral of trees ... on a road that was not yet grooved.
He had no reference to what a truck with wheels was - let alone a line of them. He heard in the ethers of this future event, the dreadful rumble and thunder as they followed one another through the forest - six, perhaps seven, each alike and quite obviously machines that carried men - who he could see were riding upon their shaking frames.
A chill went through him on that bright wintery day - for Francesco always gave visions their due weight, realising that insights hold a place somewhere in time, however implausible these presentations might appear in the present.
There was a sickening feeling that pervaded this sighting - an ominous sadness - as he knew there and then, that sometime in the centuries to follow, these men with the iron helmets would come to this quiet glade and search for his remains, later to transport them into a darkened tomb of sequestered reliquary.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, AZLANDER: NEVER ENDINGS: Second Chances
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