081413 #worm The time has come to cross the next line. The Snoke opens its steamy teeth, and lets out a naked chuckle. Boots scuffle in the dank dark. Listen: do you hear that? Drums. Farther down the corrider, a tawny glow. The walls begin to dance; shadows play in the recesses of the stone. A chantlike song fills up the permanent night. The tunnel opens wider. Water gives way to mud. A ragged circle of people sways within the ancient chamber. Most are shirtless, most are men. There are thirty, maybe forty people here, singing, drumming, and, here and there, two or more at a time, dancing to echo the gyrations of the flames. Sweaty muscles glow bronze in the firelight. Follow the sparks up: they disappear into the dark. There must be some way out up there; the cavern is not filled with smoke.