As we descended to the town, dusk became dark. We walked along the narrow cobbled streets, between thick walls overgrown with damp moss and curling ivy. We joined a flow of dark shadows, moving slowly and quietly to find a good vantage point. We began to hear the heartbeat sound of the muffled drums as the procession wound towards us.
Da-Doom - drum vibrations closed around us, thickening the air in the street.
Da-Doom - the first brotherhood in this parade of penitents came around the corner.
Da-Doom - They wore black robes with high pointed hoods that completely covered their faces.
Da-Doom - They shuffled barefoot in time to the slow, slow beat.
Da-Doom - The chains around their ankles rattled.
Da-Doom - Some scourged their backs with heavy, knotted ropes.
Da-Doom - Some carried heavy crosses in memory of our Lord on this Good Friday.
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