With great haste the warrior runs to the dust in the distance. The drums sound with each pounding footstep, heavy in the heat, heavy under the weight of the speeding warrior.
The hooves pounding on the dry ground get louder as the warrior gets closer.
The coffeebeast is in sight.
With spear raised, and chanting too, the warrior composes the impending doom of the beast with his sound, with his sprit. The sound of drums gets louder as the warrior sets out to finish the score.
With the coffeebeast in range, and the warrior ready for the exchange, the pace tightens, the beast runs frightened.
As the spear flies its clear that something has to die. The coffeebeast it will be, but will it hit he?
The dust is thick, the air is dry, and a clear loud pitch fills the sky.
Has it hit? Has it missed?
The dust clears, the air is still dry, the coffeebeast has been slain, the man wonders why.
But questions aside, the beast is dead, the hunt has been fulfilled, the music has been killed.
CoffeeBeast