Three days later, the old witch doctor Zandaya left the tribe.
Sandrolia, expressionless, cradled Zandaya’s remains wrapped in grass leaves and buried them behind the hillside.
Beside Zandaya's grave lay a patch of fertile soil. When winter gave way to spring, the sown seeds would silently begin to grow, producing layers of golden Silver-stalk Flowers in late autumn. Her small tombstone stood not far away, perfectly straight—not at all like her hunched waist. The tombstone was short and slightly crooked, looking rather like her stooped body, eagerly waiting for the Silver-stalk Flowers to grow the following year.
Chapter 113