As the cooking fires turned the sky orange that evening, Otieno stood before the village.
His legs trembled, but his voice came out strong.
"The forest lives," he said, meeting the eyes of the villagers. "It breathes and bleeds like us.
When we harm it, we harm ourselves."
The crowd shifted uneasily.
Some avoided his gaze, others nodded, likely thinking of their own failing crops.
Then something made Otieno stop in his tracks.
At the edge of the crowd stood someone wearing a cloak of leaves.
When she pulled back her hood, Otieno’s breath caught in his throat.
It was his grandmother.
She winked at him, holding a finger to her lips, as if sharing a secret.
Then, without a word, she vanished into the shadows.
The truth hit him like a branch to the face.
His grandmother had always said, "The forest remembers."
It remembered both the good and the bad, just as she had remembered every time he had taken extra food at dinner.
From that day on, the villagers worked together, planting trees and singing songs of hope.
Even the children, once too small to help, joined in, their voices filling the air like birdsong.
The work was hard, but the joy that came with it made every effort worthwhile.
On quiet nights, Otieno and Wanja would sit near the edge of the forest, sometimes seeing a leaf-cloaked figure moving between the trees.
The laughter in the wind always sounded like their grandmother’s, chasing away the memories of old mistakes.
One night, as Otieno touched the fig tree where his name had once been carved, he felt the bark had grown over it, as if time had healed the wound.
He understood now—the guardian had not cursed them.
She had given them a lesson. One they had to learn on their own.
In the heart of the forest, the woman with green eyes still watched over the land, teaching her people to listen to the trees and remember the balance between taking and giving.
And sometimes, she would drop fruit on those who needed a reminder.
They say you can hear her laugh in the quietest of nights, just like the soft laughter of those who had learned the hard way.
THE END.
Thank you my dear reader.
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