dust are our gorged ancestors—"
There were other figures shuffling in the firelight now, and the beat on the dogskin drum head was sharper, stronger. Ryan felt the quickening of his blood, the surge of new-born energy.
Voices blended:
"Dust are our gorged ancestors,
our ancestors who raped the
fields and ravished the hills,
who cut the forest chains and
set the rivers free;
our ancestors who drank deep
from the well of the world