Ashanti was sleeping. They’d hunkered down in a small grove to escape the midday sun and, exhausted from the long walk from the jungle, Baraka’s adopted mother had laid down for a little rest. But that little rest was turned into a very long one, as Ashanti began snoring, ears twitching from whatever dreams were visiting.
And Baraka was bored.
‘We’re not in roguelands,’ his mother had warned. ‘We may not be welcome here.’
Or something like that. Baraka didn’t care. He still had so much energy to waste and this was his first time exploring lands that were so wide and open and not full of endless wet trees. So off he scampered. In the far distance a massive rock loomed, dominating the landscape.
He’d never make it that far so he settled for an anthill, stalking the long line of ants as they went about their business.
