- The midday sun was full and hot, a bright white circle against the pale yellow sky. It beat down mercilessly, baking the ground and broiling the plants. Mwanjaa herself, burdened with extra weight, was panting restlessly against it with no avail. There was water, of course, it wasn’t the dry season yet. Mwanjaa could smell it to the east, sweet and sharp on the air. The jabber of birds announced its presence further, and hear large ears naturally flicked toward the noise. But she wasn’t interested.
Above her circled a flock of vultures, silent and eager, making their way north after some smell Mwanjaa could barely scent on the air. Death. A carcass. Food. She would get her drink from the poor creature’s blood. No time to waste.
“Come my friends,” she panted, her voice raspy and dry from exhaustion,” Lead me to the feast.” Her pace was slow and plodding, but she kept her eyes to the sky, following the dark shape of the birds as they swarmed. Not far now.
