One bell at a time, each ring left alone to fade in the quiet.

A dry rattle slips in under the bells, the first sound that doesn't stop.

A deep frame drum enters, and the low weight arrives with it.

Drum and rattle have locked into one rolling figure, a heartbeat with a dry rattle on top.

A high, soft voice rides just above the drums now, keeping its distance from all that weight.

The high voice lets go of the front; the drums hand the weight forward under the chant.

The figure drives on unchanged under the chant, heavy and close, the rattle still ticking over the deep strokes.

The chant drops lower and closer, chest-deep against the drum skins.

It sits down inside the drum pattern, moving at the drums' own pace.

Nothing has eased. The same heavy figure still fills the room, edge to edge.

The drive finally leans back, loosening its grip on the room.

The drums fall away, and a thin, soft voice carries the last of it.