The cock woke me at the stroke of dawn. I sat up and yawned, scratching my belly as I rose from my clay bed. The animal hide and raffia palm leaves ruffled as I shifted.

I stepped out of my hut, greeted by the cool morning air and dew-damp grass. Chewing on a leaf mint, I rinsed my mouth quickly with rainwater, ready to face the day. I blew at the chewing stick I had used yesterday, to clear the debris on it, and put it in my mouth as I went to check on my hens. As I got closer, the hens clucked softly, familiar with my presence.

My eyes lit up at the sight of 34 eggs nestled in the straw, a neat, glistening treasure that brought a rare smile to my lips. I chuckled, crouching beside the hens. "You've outdone yourselves today, haven't you? These eggs will fetch fine cowries at the market, my little treasures." The hens pecked at the ground, not understanding my words but used to my routine.

Next, I headed to the barn where I stored my harvest. Peeking inside, I saw it was still half full. I knew what I had to do that day—head to the farm and bring back more yams and, if I was lucky, some corn. My corn was well-known in the surrounding villages; it was always big and sweet, a point of pride for me. The thought of it made me eager to start my day.

Before leaving, I ate the last piece of yam I had saved, roasted over the small fire. I dipped it in palm oil sauce, enjoying the simple, familiar taste. It was a good meal to start the day.

After eating, I went to the washing area and splashed some water on my face and arms, letting the coolness wake me up fully. The day ahead was clear—I would work hard, just like every other day, and hope the land rewarded my efforts.

As I stepped outside, the sun was starting to warm the ground, and I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the fresh morning air. It felt like a promising day, a day to work, to harvest, and to be grateful for the simple gifts of the land.

The cock's cry faded as I gathered my tools for the day's labor. My heart, though heavy with the weight of solitude, found solace in the familiar rhythm of my daily tasks. I lived in the southern outskirts of Obiakor, a thriving village within the vast Nri kingdom. Our empire, stretching across 35 villages, was ruled by the Eze-igwe, the king of kings, who appointed igwes to govern each settlement. Obiakor itself lay one village away from the Great River, with Nsala standing as our northern neighbor.

I chose this secluded spot to escape the complexities of village life. The wounds that drove me here still ached, reminding me why I preferred my crops and animals over people.

As I set out towards my farm, the cool earth beneath my bare feet grounded me in the present. It is a long walk to my farm, one that takes me through patches of thorn bushes and across a clear, flowing stream before I reach the fertile land I had carefully chosen. I have always believed that my ancestors followed me from my native village to Obiako, guiding my hands and blessing my work. Though I live alone, I am never without abundance. My crops thrive, my harvests are plentiful, and I earn more cowries than I know what to do with.

The morning mist began to lift, revealing the lush landscape that was my world.

My eyes scanned the ripening crops as I approached. The yam plants stood tall and proud, their broad leaves shimmering with lingering dew. But it was the corn that truly captured my gaze. Row upon row of green stalks swayed gently in the breeze, heavy with promise. I ran my hand along the silky tassels, a rare smile tugging at my lips. These were indeed the finest corns in all of Obiakor, perhaps even in the entire Nri kingdo—

"Great Amadioha!" My breath hitched, eyes widening. Someone had dared to steal from my precious harvest—right under my nose. The audacity of the thief knew no bounds; they had even roasted and consumed some of the corn right here in my field.

Rage boiled within me, my fists clenching as I scanned the area. This land was all I had—my refuge from a world that had given me nothing but scars. How dare someone intrude on it, steal from it, as if my labor meant nothing?

I didn't have to look far. There, sprawled across one of my ridges, lay the thief in a deep sleep—snoring like a goat. The figure was unmistakably a woman, but her attire was like nothing I'd ever seen before. Strange garments covered her entire body, leaving only her eyes exposed.

Even in my self-imposed exile, it seemed trouble would find me. Strangers, no less, dared to encroach upon my land and help themselves to the fruits of my labor. My jaw clenched as I contemplated the punishment that awaited her.

I approached the sleeping woman, my hands tightening around the cord. For a moment, I hesitated. What kind of person sleeps so deeply on a stranger's land, as if they have no fear? But I pushed the thought away. Thief or not, she had crossed a line, and I would see justice done.

As I moved to secure her hands, she jolted awake with a start, her eyes snapping open, wild and frightened. A scream tore from her throat, sharp and desperate, echoing across the fields like the cry of a vulture. She twisted in my grip, her hands clawing at the air as if she could tear herself free. Her mouth spilled a torrent of words, but they were foreign, tangled sounds that meant nothing to me. I felt a hot surge of anger—how dare she steal from me, then speak in a tongue I could not even understand?

I knew the law of Obiakor well. Thieves were sentenced to the cage above the Oshimiri river, a place where strange and evil things were said to occur. Survival there was seen as a sign of the gods' favor – a rare occurrence indeed. My mind was made up; this was where I would take this stranger who had dared to violate my sanctuary.

Ignoring her struggles, I hoisted her small frame over my shoulder. Her weight was nothing compared to the sacks of harvest I routinely carried. As I turned to begin the journey to the river, my thoughts already racing ahead to ridding myself of this nuisance and returning to my solitude, a sudden, searing pain exploded across my back.

As I turned to begin the journey to the river, a faint rustle caught my ear—a whisper of movement, just beyond the cornrows. I paused, scanning the shadows, but saw nothing. I took a step, and then another, telling myself it was just the wind, but my instincts were prickling, the way they did when danger was near.

Then it came, swift and brutal. A sharp crack, and pain burst across my back, hot and blinding. I staggered, nearly dropping the girl, as the world spun around me. My breath caught, eyes watering, and I stumbled to keep my footing. Who else could be here? Had the thief not come alone? As I struggled to maintain my balance and comprehend this turn of events, one thing became crystal clear – my day of peaceful harvest had taken a dangerous and unexpected turn.

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