The Faded Root
Chapter One It was only later, when the light had slanted low enough to turn the river gorge into a bruise of amber and shadow, that Babatunde Mohammed understood the uniform was no longer fabric but flesh, fused to his skin by a crystalline sap that oozed from the cracked clay of the West African riverbank. He stood at the bottom of the one hundred and nine Tannery Steps, the stone slick with...
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