The drums had been going for hours. Deep, steady, thunderous beats that shook the ground beneath bare feet. The women swayed in unison, hips rolling, arms lifting toward the silver moon overhead. Their laughter rang out between the chanting of the men, low and rhythmic, voices blending into something primal. It wasn't just a celebration—it was alive, pulsing, wild.
Smoke curled from fire pits, carrying the scent of roasted meat and palm wine. Children ran between the adults, shrieking with joy until their mothers pulled them back into the circle, where the women stamped and spun with dazzling energy. Beads clinked, flowers spilled from their hair, bracelets rattled against their skin. It was chaos, but beautiful chaos.
And somewhere a little outside the crowd, Isabella was… bored.
