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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Isida Kep'Tukari" data-source="post: 3109660" data-attributes="member: 4441">There were drums, drums from the dancers celebrating the victory.  Morika curled up next to the fire, watching her cousins dance, leaping into the air, dancing for victory, for luck, for health and good hunting.  The drumming was infectious, relentless, and soon the young shifter had to join in.  She was only ten years old, but loved every minute of it.  She lept and twirled, spun and twisted, hearing all the drumming, drumming, drumming...Drumming.  Pounding.  Someone was pounding at the door.  Damn your ears and eyes and that of your children unto the fifteenth generation you thick-headed honorless pieces of dung! Morika snarled mentally as she swam into unwelcome consciousness.  Her head was already pounding with what was certain to be the grandmother of all hangovers, her eyes blurred and felt stuffed with sand, and her mouth was so foul it didn't bear thinking about.  Shuffling over to the door, she yanked it over, murder on her mind.  If this isn't a life-or-death emergency, they're getting beaten.  And even if it is, I might beat them anyway! she thought grouchily as she looked to see who was there."What?" she snarled, probably looking twice as bad as she actually felt.</blockquote>