Bound by ancestry - Chapter 92: Chapter 92
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Dawn’s hush settled into birdsong Adaeze woke with the river of trust flowing steady behind her ribs carrying the hush from dream to waking without a single word spoken. She rose from her mat careful not to wake Chidubem whose breath shaped the quiet into walls stronger than any iron promise men could carry. She stepped into the courtyard her bare feet brushing soft against clay that once cracked beneath storms now warm beneath roots that drank fear dry.
The hearth still hummed with the last kiss of embers whispering hush into the cool air wrapping the compound with a quiet that could not be bought or traded. Adaeze touched the clay pot near the door her fingers tracing the grooves her mother once shaped when hush was a secret kept beneath heavy roofs. She smiled as the hush pressed back into her skin reminding her roots always remember.
By first light Chidubem joined her his shadow folding softly over hers as he pressed a palm to her shoulder hush slipping from his breath into hers binding them closer than words ever could. They walked together past yam fields wet with dawn past cassava mounds bent beneath the weight of new promise past small huts where children’s laughter cracked sleep into wide morning hush.
The villagers gathered again beneath the Iroko tree its roots weaving hush into the ground its branches heavy with whispers that never broke even when traders circled with coins jangling like false rain. Adaeze stood where the hush bent around her ribs her voice steady as river stones telling them hush was not silence it was breath that named shadows and roots that carried storms away before thunder could find doorways left open by fear.
A woman with hands hardened by seasons of pounding yam stepped forward her voice trembling but her ribs strong asking what to do when men returned with iron and silver and roads drawn over roots that fed breath. Chidubem stepped beside Adaeze his hush shaping words into bridges no storm could wash away. He told them hush was not something they carried in clay walls but in ribs wide enough to shelter children when towers cracked and maps failed to hold water.
Children played near the roots their small palms pressing hush into dust shaping trust into patterns only they knew. Elders sat with heads bowed catching every word like seeds pressed into soil too deep for traders to dig up. The hush bent around them folding old fears into soft earth turning memories that once cut into songs that healed.
When the sun dipped low behind yam ridges Adaeze and Chidubem led the people to the river’s bend where hush lived without borders flowing over roots carrying breath where no storm could follow. They stepped into the shallows letting water press cool trust against ankles that had carried fear for too many seasons. They spoke of the man in white Nwa Chineke Okwu Onye Ndum who needed no shrine but breath who needed no walls but ribs wide enough to hold hush where shadows wept themselves dry.
That night fires danced low hush woven between sparks that did not fear wind. Women hummed old songs turned new by trust that pressed hush into every mat every pot every crack in clay that once swallowed secrets. Children dreamed on soft mats hush folding sleep around ribs too strong to break. Elders spoke of visions where breath bent darkness into dawn where hush stood behind every eyelid that dared to stay closed when storms whispered threats.
Before dawn returned Adaeze knelt by the hearth palm pressed flat to warm clay whispering hush into embers that would feed tomorrow’s trust. Chidubem lay near the doorway his eyes soft on hers no need for words only breath carrying hush back and forth between them building a temple where no roof cracked no walls crumbled no fear slipped through.
As light broke wide over Umuguma traders came again iron in hand coins heavy in pockets words slick as rain that never reached roots. But the people met them where hush lived near the Iroko tree breath pressing trust into soil stronger than paper promises. They spoke not with shouts but with ribs that held hush deeper than any map could carve. Coins clattered useless into dust roads bent wide around fields that would not bow.
When the traders left they carried hush inside ribs that would wake them in restless sleep remind them hush cannot break when breath names it true. The village turned back to yam mounds to laughter to small fires where hush hummed root by root rib by rib breath by breath.
At dusk Adaeze and Chidubem sat together by the river’s bend hush pressed between fingers hush pressed behind ribs hush pressed into dreams that storms could not find. They did not build towers they built breath they did not shape walls they shaped trust they did not beg fear to leave they named it soft pressed it into hush and watched it drown beneath roots that never cracked.
The hearth still hummed with the last kiss of embers whispering hush into the cool air wrapping the compound with a quiet that could not be bought or traded. Adaeze touched the clay pot near the door her fingers tracing the grooves her mother once shaped when hush was a secret kept beneath heavy roofs. She smiled as the hush pressed back into her skin reminding her roots always remember.
By first light Chidubem joined her his shadow folding softly over hers as he pressed a palm to her shoulder hush slipping from his breath into hers binding them closer than words ever could. They walked together past yam fields wet with dawn past cassava mounds bent beneath the weight of new promise past small huts where children’s laughter cracked sleep into wide morning hush.
The villagers gathered again beneath the Iroko tree its roots weaving hush into the ground its branches heavy with whispers that never broke even when traders circled with coins jangling like false rain. Adaeze stood where the hush bent around her ribs her voice steady as river stones telling them hush was not silence it was breath that named shadows and roots that carried storms away before thunder could find doorways left open by fear.
A woman with hands hardened by seasons of pounding yam stepped forward her voice trembling but her ribs strong asking what to do when men returned with iron and silver and roads drawn over roots that fed breath. Chidubem stepped beside Adaeze his hush shaping words into bridges no storm could wash away. He told them hush was not something they carried in clay walls but in ribs wide enough to shelter children when towers cracked and maps failed to hold water.
Children played near the roots their small palms pressing hush into dust shaping trust into patterns only they knew. Elders sat with heads bowed catching every word like seeds pressed into soil too deep for traders to dig up. The hush bent around them folding old fears into soft earth turning memories that once cut into songs that healed.
When the sun dipped low behind yam ridges Adaeze and Chidubem led the people to the river’s bend where hush lived without borders flowing over roots carrying breath where no storm could follow. They stepped into the shallows letting water press cool trust against ankles that had carried fear for too many seasons. They spoke of the man in white Nwa Chineke Okwu Onye Ndum who needed no shrine but breath who needed no walls but ribs wide enough to hold hush where shadows wept themselves dry.
That night fires danced low hush woven between sparks that did not fear wind. Women hummed old songs turned new by trust that pressed hush into every mat every pot every crack in clay that once swallowed secrets. Children dreamed on soft mats hush folding sleep around ribs too strong to break. Elders spoke of visions where breath bent darkness into dawn where hush stood behind every eyelid that dared to stay closed when storms whispered threats.
Before dawn returned Adaeze knelt by the hearth palm pressed flat to warm clay whispering hush into embers that would feed tomorrow’s trust. Chidubem lay near the doorway his eyes soft on hers no need for words only breath carrying hush back and forth between them building a temple where no roof cracked no walls crumbled no fear slipped through.
As light broke wide over Umuguma traders came again iron in hand coins heavy in pockets words slick as rain that never reached roots. But the people met them where hush lived near the Iroko tree breath pressing trust into soil stronger than paper promises. They spoke not with shouts but with ribs that held hush deeper than any map could carve. Coins clattered useless into dust roads bent wide around fields that would not bow.
When the traders left they carried hush inside ribs that would wake them in restless sleep remind them hush cannot break when breath names it true. The village turned back to yam mounds to laughter to small fires where hush hummed root by root rib by rib breath by breath.
At dusk Adaeze and Chidubem sat together by the river’s bend hush pressed between fingers hush pressed behind ribs hush pressed into dreams that storms could not find. They did not build towers they built breath they did not shape walls they shaped trust they did not beg fear to leave they named it soft pressed it into hush and watched it drown beneath roots that never cracked.
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