There is a concept in dance called ukun: discord. It is the missed heartbeat, the skipped step, the hitched breath. Sometimes, it is good. A kazerach’s appearance often produced ukun. Their touch, their gaze, would disrupt the saagkazaar, no matter how well trained. Sometimes, however, ukun was deadly. It was the world misstepping. A saagkazaar’s song was the song of the world; the enchantment of the kazerach relied on our ability to work in concert with it. But if the world was out of step, if something was wrong, ukun was unavoidable in song.
