The dance of the dead (in the horn)

Deathdance

The breeze blows, giving living breath to the still night. A waft of steam floats upward then curls back into nothingness. From a distance the drumbeats sound, it is almost time for the dance.

Two dark clouds float conspicuously up in the crimson sky occasionally hurling bolts of thunder in chorus that singe the grass beneath their feet. Oh what a horrible horrible dirge they sing. they sing for my brothers and sisters. They sing for my friends and neighbors. Oh that awful awful sound that awakens the devil. The dance is about to begin

The valley is quiet but the hills have eyes. Eyes that dare not blink lest they miss the dance. Eyes that flash yellow, then red, then yellow again. They are not human eyes, they can't be.

It is almost noon now, the sun should be out. Alas he is afraid, hiding behind the shadows. Either that or he doesn't care. Why should he, the blood about to spill is brown and dark brown. You know, the cheap kind. The kind that washes away easily when the long rains come.

What is that I hear? Heavy drumbeats. Heavy footsteps. Heavy panting. Heavy cries (of war). So begins the dance. The dance of death.

Dave Nyambati