Chapter Nineteen

Insulted and a little stung at his pitying dismissal, I cursed him and called him by rude names, my sharp tongue which had landed me in numerous trouble lashed out wantonly, days spent with lawless men and drunkards supplied me with vulgar speeches from which I held nothing back.

“You wool brained hideous bastard of a hundred fathers, you dare to call yourself an Orisha, you mistake of a deity, you dared to open that excrement filled maw you call mouth and compared yourself to Lanroye in all his divinity, perchance if you had ever sat to wonder why you stayed down here in your gods forsaken groove where no one visits you and you think it was because everyone feared you, then you must be dumber than you look.

No one wants to come near you because you stink to the heavens, your foul stench led me right from the edge of the forest to the hole you call groove, your brother wears robes made with golden linen, you’re here strutting about in skirts made of