The high-hats became the clinking of brass bells. The snare was the crack of a whip.

Suddenly, Gastli appeared from the shadows of the nearby tent, carrying a flute carved from a reed. He didn't say a word; he simply breathed into the instrument. The notes spiraled upward, airy and ghost-like, dancing between the heavy thuds of Nacim’s digital kick drum.

Nacim hit the final key. The echo of the flute lingered in the cool night air. "The Camel Rider has arrived," Laroz whispered.