Everything is black except the dancing bodies illuminated by firelight.
I sense that we are on the edge of a tall cliff with nothingness spilling into the distance. The women who were once covered in veils and cloth have shed their layers, given up their modesty and fear of earthly retribution by decency, laws and men.
There are female drummers along the edge of the cliff, the shadows of flames move across their amber skin.
One clearly visible drummer is wearing tattered clothes, sexy in their dirtiness and caveman aesthetic.
All of the women are barefoot, dancing on the floor of an ancient, sacred cliff. Long, wavy hair sways wildly in circles as they move. Their movements look like guttural, body responses to the calls and instructions of the rhythms. The movements are heavy and pound upon and into the earth with extreme intention.