Lady Ussi rolled her fingers on the Zelkova-wood desk, eyeing Old Orolo across his surface. The old fisher-elf was the unofficial song-keeper and tale-teller of Trebor and he was being his usual irate, ornery self.

"what do you mean little miss snake, you don't have enough drums?"

"We have enough for this year, but they're either thrown together in a hurry out of green wood or so old the heads are starting to crack. I'm talking about next year, and probably the next two or three after that. A proper okedō ō-daiko takes that long to make, but we'll have some smaller ko-daiko and chū-daiko done before then. What I'm asking for is help in finding drums, and perhaps drummers, to fill the gaps."

"And why is this my problem again? You've got Lord Aris wrapped around your finger, or more likely your tail. Why not ask him, hmm?"

The tattoo of fingers on wood stopped. "Who taught you how to hate?"

"Eh?"

"Who taught you how to hate? Because hate isn't in the blood, isn't part of how we are made."

"No one taught me to hate. But the old levee, she taught me to weep and moan. When she broke, she had what it took to make a fisher-elf leave his home on the jeweled bay. And then your kin and kind tore the whole bay right up, killed my home and left me to wander out here. Now you are back, and I'm in no mood to help you on account of what you cost me."

"Those stupid kuso are not my kin or kind. Not after they got two of my sons killed for no good reason. One died right in front of me, and the body of the other was never recovered. And then I had to leave my home or they would have killed me... if I was lucky. I was damn near ready to follow my sons until I heard the Islander."

Old Orolo bowed his head, "aye, I remember that night. Dumb of me to spout off that way without thinking of what you lost coming out of the forest like that, joining the kingdom. I don't know what I can do about replacement drums, not this year at any rate. That's no reason we can't start fresh and try and find some common ground though. What song did you want fresh drums for anyway?"

"Well, my former slave-masters banned certain songs and dances, or gave us versions that weren't quite right. What I want to perform is one of those old dances, the Fire Dance, they way it was meant to be done before the Overlords came to power. I've got most of it, I think, from a few lorekeepers that kept the old books out of raw stubbornness, even if they could never share what was in them."

"The Fire Dance, eh? I recall watching those from when I was a boy, might be something I could help with, if you'd let me. Certainly I don't have the strength to join the drummers, nor the footwork to join the dancers!"