Publisher's Synopsis
The pall of sodden, stygian darkness all around; the night sounds of soft-winged, obscene things flapping lazily overhead or brushing against the furry trees that held the woolly heat of the tropical day like boiler pipes in a factory; the slimy, swishy things that glided and crawled and wiggled underfoot; the vibrant growl of a hunting lioness that began in a deep basso and peaked to a shrill, high-pitched, ridiculously inadequate treble; a spotted hyena's vicious, bluffing bark; the chirp and whistle of innumerable monkeys; a warthog breaking through the undergrowth with a clumsy, clownish crash--and somewhere, very far away, the staccato thumping of a signal drum, and more faintly yet the answer from the next in line. He had seen many such drums, made from fire-hollowed palm trees and covered with tightly stretched skin--often the skin of a human enemy. 7 stories by a master storyteller
