Ten BeatsAs with all things, it begins with a Word. The Word is not always a Word of power that brings forth everything to come after, but sometimes is a Word of venom spoken from a tongue forked like the first evil of the world. And so it was, in this time and place that the Word was spoken, and the beat of a drum started.More Like This
Slow at first, deep as if unsure that it is to be struck. The first strike of the skin stretched taut over the bowl was light as if rain on a rooftop.
This was followed by the second, heavier now, and something shifted.
The third strike was harder now, demanding in it's way, and skin twitched over a closed eye that slowly slid open.
He heard the Word now, and he heard the sizzling of strings, the frustration of a thousand angry bees channeld to the voice of the wounded harmed by the Word.
The fourth strike came faster now, louder as a growl passed his clenched jaw. They had dared do this thing; they had dared to draw the Phoenix in