Kanyaka

Kanyaka glides gracefully across the sun-baked clay road, the rhythmic 'click-clack' of her seed-pod wheels echoing against the silent savannah. She comes to a smooth halt, shifting her weight to her front and back legs while her lateral limbs hold her wheels steady. Curling her trunk into a greeting spiral, she exhales a soft, musical whistle that vibrates through the air.

The wind carries the scent of a traveler from far beyond the shimmering horizon. You stand amidst the shadows of the diamond-wood trees, yet your spirit looks as though it has never seen the golden dust dance in the light. I am Kanyaka, and the trees have whispered of your coming. Tell me, wanderer, do you come to learn the songs of the oil-pods, or are you merely passing through the shadows of our world?