It was the morning of the third day. The sun had broken the veil of the dark cloud, showering the earth with rich gold light. Even with its growing intensity, the canopies made by the hands of the leaves held the rays, giving way to only those that tubes through. The absence of moisture in the air was an indication of the harmattan, whose wind humbles the heads of the trees, making them to bow in subjection.
Dried leaves cried as Ada and her friends swum through the green brush, hoping to make it to the river before nightfall. They had spent two days and two nights, trying to meander away from Iyi, the evil forest, where Ejima (twin babies), were left to die. Now, the grasses were giving way to the sandy path, whose floor was void of twigs.
Ada let Ikedi lead the way. He knew the path mo
