So when she saw the man standing at the edge of the cassava field, she did not run. She tilted her head, the way her grandmother taught her, like a bird deciding whether a snake is friend or food.
He was tall. Too tall. His legs were long as herons' legs, his neck thin as a reed. He wore grey linen that drank the twilight instead of reflecting it. His skin was the colour of old parchment, the kind her grandfather used to wrap tobacco leaves.
And his eyes, his eyes were shallow graves. No grief, no joy. Just two holes where something had been and was no longer.
“Child,” he said.
Nneka Solomon, part-time educator full-time chronicler of small-town life, spends her days navigating the unpredictable waters of academia and her evenings crafting fantastical tales where the local gossip mill becomes a cauldron of magical intrigue and the town square transforms into a bustling marketplace for enchanted wares.
Ovi eBook Publishing 2026
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