Out of Hard Fury
Rosmerta leaned back into the shade of the eaves of he house next to her, and stared at the spectacle in front of her. A collection of some of the most stiff-headed blokes from her village were performing what they charitably though of as a dance. They’d lit a fire in the middle of the central area of the village, and were now jumping around it in a revolving circle. Sacrapos, the bard, was standing off to one side, blowing hard on his bagpipes, cheeks bulging, head bright red, eyes almost popping out of his head. To the wailing coming out of the thing the blokes moving around the fire alternatively threw their arms into the air, kicked ferociously back with their feet like a bucking horse, stamped down hard on the ground, and let out a loud “hey” everytime they pounded the ground. She strongly suspected the real reason for the shouts was the pain they got from hitting the hard ground with their soft feet, if the undertones of agony she thought she could ddiscern beneath the din ...