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Wanawake

Virescent, stubby, shoots intertwined with lush, canopies of forest, green encircled a shining throne of polished bone and tanned, animal pelts. A dark skinned beauty with a complexion as deep and swarthy as blissful chocolate that melts on the tongue and flowing, pleated tresses of rusty, copper sat there pensively, brow raised in disquieting concern. She sat cross legged while stroking the head of her pet cheetah, a sleek creature with soulful eyes and a satiny, spotted coat. Isina, vitality radiates towards you like the smell of blood to a ravenous lion, came the inky voice that smelled of musk. Namelok - the sweet one, what news do you come bearing? The mwanaume - man have come, the voice replied as she bowed before her queen, smearing cobalt dye upon her slender arms and legs. We shall walk with spear in hand came the decree. Namelok nodded solemnly and disappeared, her footsteps echoing in the wind as the palm fronds swayed gently. A fleshy python with subtle, tawny markings slithered into view and coiled itself like an ornate head dress around Isinas head. She poked its protruding girth and felt the vibrations of its quiet hiss. She rose, her regal physique like that of a gazelle. Her frame was swathed in bejeweled silks and engraved on her neck, intricate, swirly markings of the jungle. A cascading waterfall flowed into a steady stream and on the other side a wrought cage of bamboo stood forsaken. Isina disrobed and plunged into the oasis, the tranquility of soundless ripples in the water soothed her misgivings. Delicate fingers grazed the razor edges of the cage and Isina was suddenly prompted to a time when wanawake - women wailed in despair, trepidation enveloping their indomitable confinements. Golden ichor yoked with watery tears tinted the bassin a hue of pomegranate. She remembered her captors, chiseled muscles made of stone carrying assegais that wounded flesh. Shuddering, Isina exhaled and released stale air circulating in her lungs. Clothed in a cotton loincloth with a breastplate of silvery, chain mail, she mounted her cheetah and rode into battle as a fiery beam of sun. Her army of sisters trickled behind gripping honed arrows. Their foes, the mwanaume, fearsome barbarians, pounded fists and howled like wolves under a full moon. Under blistering heat they fought, the sky bled and the barren land deteriorated under the cumbersome weight of shriveled corpses. Isina forced her weary body to stand, tendrils of hair frantically billowing about a coal smudged face. Raising hands to Nanasma, matriarchal goddess of moon, she saluted her brethren - ndugu and rose triumphantly. Her victims groveling for mercy, yearning to brush their gritty lips upon her sumptuous skin. Bring forth the bindings, Isina proclaimed. A harmonious flow of voices echoed back as Nalutuesha - the one born when raining, brought forth a mighty cage of tightly laced bamboo shoots. The mwanaume bayed as they sat clustered, limbs twisted into odd contours. Isina silenced pleas of forgiveness with icy eyes. We walk, she says, her voice as thunderous as stones pummeling down a mountain peak. They rise, as one whole, flying through clouds of wispy smoke on vibrant, subtle wings, the Wanawake.



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