About the book: year / The leader’s belly rumbled loudly and demandingly. He hastily grabbed his favorite club and, swinging it wide, hit the skin tightly stretched over the wooden frame. A booming, powerful sound reverberated through the hut and burst out, announcing to the subjects that the ruler desired something. Everything froze in anticipation. Listening with pleasure to the fading roar, the leader looked at the vibrating skin, which had dried over many years to the bone hardness. It was the skin of Myr's predecessor on the throne. “Yes, the skin is good, it sounds powerful, echoing,” thought the leader, “But the old man himself was disgusting.” Myr winced, remembering the old man’s taste. However, nothing can be done - tradition. Myr didn’t come up with it, and it’s not his place to cancel it. Someday his skin will also hum under the blows, menacingly and demandingly.