Òyì nke e mepụtara

‘NO! WHY WOULD A GOD BE SCARED OF HIM? TIME HAS SET HIM IN A DREARY STATE – NO SENSE OF HOME! ’ Death stood, looming over Sanvree’s short figure, the glittering moonlight blocked by his cloak of flowing black; torn with large holes filled with dew that quickly turned to ash, as Death advanced on the Larrit, whose knees felt numb against the weight of winter’s silky tongue. ‘HE WOULD BE LUCKY TO EVEN LA-’ ‘Oh Death, so long since we spoke last… and you are still ever so dull-natured. You