Mbakwe searched the bag hanging on his shoulder—which was made from a goat hide—and pulled out his waterskin. He uncorked it with his mouth and tilted his head to gulp the content. His hoarse throat burned with taste as not a single liquid dropped from the waterskin. This was the third time he had done that, and each attempt smolders his esophagus. His salivary gland was in draught as well, every bid to swallow was like with forcing a heavy stone through the eye of a metal ring.
It’s been two days since his companions abandoned him. Two days, alone in this forest, in a quest that would change not only his life but the fate of the world. He could imagine the crown resting on his head, gold rings around his five fingers. With the Ofor in his right hand, he would be immortal. Beautiful maidens would be at his side and great chiefs as his subject
“So, tell me,” Nnamdi said as he forced the words amid the bolus of the pounded yam going down his gullet. His guest watched him and gulped, grateful that his stomach had not growled to disclose how the hunger of the past days had affected him. “How long have you stayed in Dota? I mean, how long since your training?”Mbakwe scowled at the habit of the man. Parents sprung their children for talking while eating, but an elderly man…the peop
Chinwe’s face glittered with an uncertain smile as her lazy gaze fell upon the food sitting on the tray basket. The time was ripe and she knew from the depths of her heart that her efforts would yield a good fruit today. Reverberation from the beat of her heart, was audible in her ear drum, making her palms to weep sweat. The qualms within still blazed, but she tried to drown it with the solace of the sorcerer words. She had waited so long for this. So far everything was working together for good, in the perfect order, just as the sorcerer had predicted.
Mbakwe heaved and leaned on the bamboo door. He allowed his gaze escaped through the window, to behold the racing feet of the of vast land, which chased after them as the two zebras, hurried the chariot down the sandy path. The sun was high up–a matured day–but the passing air made it impossible for the heat to scorch the skin, he could no doubt tell that it was noon, and that soon the sun would start setting.
Ada tried to swallow, but the viscous liquid failed to lubricate the surface of her coarse throat, it took several struggle to draw a little quantity from the drying pool of saliva. She broke away from the main road, into a narrow sandy path, where she turned to the right and was saluted by the site of a dead palm tree—standing by the grace of an orange tree supporting it—just as the description of the village boy had directed. She sauntered down the alleyway, whose floor was neat despite the orange tree lining both end. It was midafternoon now and soon the sun would start dropping its radiance. 
Is Mbakwe from Alaocha? How did he know my real name? Maybe my character gave me away, but how can that be? Chinwe always say that I talked gibberish while sleeping, could it be that...No, I don’t think.Ada twisted away from the main road, back into the narrow path, it was
The cries of burning woods and straws shunned the melody of the morning, accompanied by smoke that clouded the place, making it almost impossible to see clearly. Broken pots, calabash, and their contents streamed the dusty floor, with a smell that melded with the white smoke.“What happened he
“Ndu m(my life)” A familiar voice screamed and held her legs in a tight embrace. Ada needn’t look to know who it was. The little boy was fond of calling her ‘his life’ after she had sa
The young day still held the rays of the sun, dancing over the horizon, just on the other side of the world. Mist, as visible as a burning smoke, swerved in the cold morning air, making it impossible to see clearly. Murmurs and whispers circulated the serenity of the forest as the people traveled along. Even the twigs and dried leaves that carpeted the forest, cried in agony as different weight brushed pass.