Rastaban waited until the earliest risers of the village stirred before he crossed the green and headed for Kana’s place. He pushed aside the cloth that hung in the doorway of her hut - and paused.
Kana stood over the fire, stirring a massive pot of stew, while the children sat on the ground in a circle, watching her avidly.
She was telling a story, her voice low and lulling. Rastaban could barely catch the details, but it was about a songmistress who fell in love with a shadow demon.
“What happened next?” a little girl asked.
“He died for her.”
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