Wasike returned just as the evening sun dipped below the horizon, painting the clouds with blood-orange hues. Dust clung to his cloak, his face weary but alert.
Khisa, Tiriki, and Wasike sat beneath a wooden canopy beside the central hall. The air smelled faintly of burning firewood and distant rain, though the sky was dry.
"Speak," Khisa said simply.
Wasike placed a small leather pouch on the table between them. "We found this near a stream in one of the sick villages," he said grimly. "Ajuma examined it. It's not natural. Someone spread this on purpose."
Khisa picked up the pouch and brought it closer to his nose, recoiling slightly from the pungent, bitter stench.
"Amplified fungal spores," Wasike added. "Ajuma said it poisons faster than anything she's seen. It kills the weak quickly and spreads fast in water."
The silence was thick. Tiriki exhaled slowly, rubbing his chin.
