EJIMA
If looks could kill, then Ejima was sure that she would have died from the diviner's gaze.
White chalk lined the woman's dark eyes, the Dibia also had that gnostic aura about her. Her dark tattered hair blended with the cowries and the red shambles she called clothing. It was hard to tell if the woman’s body had ever tasted the grace of a warm shower.
“I was about to go to your place,” Ejima said. She leaned away from the palm tree, confident that her feet were strong enough to hold her. “My bones are like the rivers of Vilari, I will need some medicine.”
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