He wished it would stop, so that he might reason, yet dreaded that it might stop at any moment.

Fascinated by the weird rhythm and the hollow beat, he could not summon the will to go beyond its sway.
He walked about the fires or lingered by the groups in consultation until the first signs of dawn.

Then he climbed the low, rocky hill to the east and peered over the top, the drum-beats still pulsing through him, still coercing him.

As the light grew, he could make out the details of the scene below.

He was looking down into a narrow valley running north and south, formed by two ranges of rugged, rocky hills five hundred yards or so apart.