So he went about and collected all the wisdom from his head, from his backyard, from his family, from his house, then he went to everybody he had ever given wisdom to and collected his wisdom from them and kept all his wisdom in a pot.
While the sons had built houses for themselves, the wild son refused to live in a house and when the youngest daughter crossed over, he smelled her and attacked her, and she cried for help.
“Dum dum dum, ku Ku lu Ku Ku Ku Ku Ku, cha cha cha”—the frenetic drums pounded in a relentless rhythm as the masquerades whirled around the prostrate, tear-streaked girl.
“Nwe! Nwe! Nwe!” The child's cries pierced the stillness of the night, echoing through the dense forest, a desperate wail that would tug at the heart of any passerby.
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the village as women made their way home from the bustling market and farmers trudged back from their fields.
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