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Hunger stalked the land. Rain had forsaken the village. And the voracious Abama Warriors led by Abigale-Goddess of all the Forest. The Golden Goddess-paraded persistently against the walls of the Great Kilmer to lay to rest the prehistoric curse of Leman bin Ali.

Time went slowly, the eleventh-hour oppression of the hot sun was at its receding tide, its intense violence done to the yellowish soil of the clearing, and the rich tapestry of the great forest drooped breathless over its secret; for here, deep in the African Congo, was the sacred dwelling place of Abigale, the Golden Queen of the Forest and all its men. Here no one had ever set foot, not even those who flaunted the title, Bwana and whose skin was white. Fools perish quickly on the forbidden trails of the Congo forest and the wise knew better than to display tribal taboos.

The rain was past due, the heat overbearing in the small clearing even hours after the sun goes down. The thunder rolled like the drums of the forest, Lightning flashed across the horizon and nature waited in gasping suspense. But no rain came, Abigale longed for it to come and bust this brooding hush, though she knew that it has to make her forest home damp and depressing, this anxious waiting for something to occur was driving her insane.