“How about songs, Jul? You like ’em?”
She loved songs.
No, that wasn’t quite right. She loved rhythm.
The angry rhythm of the drums playing notes of battle.
The sly rhythm of the arrows flying off her bow to hit the enemies’ vital spots.
The soft rhythm of Sambas’ paws on uneven soil.
The quiet rhythm of rain falling of autumn leaves.
The frantic rhythm of her own heart, when she was making love.
And then, maybe, there was a rhythm she loved above all the others.
Juljin fixed her eyes southwards, toward the isles where she had spent her childhood playing, hunting and listening to her father’s chanted tales of braveness and glory, his voice monotonous, soothing, almost rhythmic.
“Yeah, mon. I do like ma’ songs.”