THE WHISPERING ROCK
262 Words
The village of Aluma lay quiet under the twilight sky, a speck in the endless savannah. Amara pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders as she stood beside her grandmother’s home, looking toward the mountains that whispered secrets only she could hear. The air was warm, yet she shivered, feeling the weight of something beyond herself.
Tonight, as the last light faded, she felt drawn to the oldest tree in the village—a baobab known as the Whispering Rock. Local legend claimed it held the memories of all who touched its roots, and Amara knew it was where her journey would begin.
“Are you ready, child?” her grandmother Muna’s voice broke the silence. Muna, frail yet fierce, had a voice that commanded respect. She was the only one who knew of Amara’s gift, and she had kept the secret fiercely guarded.
“Yes, Nana,” Amara replied, steadying herself. “I have to know.”
Muna nodded. “Touch the roots, and remember—whatever you see, hold onto it. The echoes of the past can be a heavy burden.”
Taking a deep breath, Amara knelt by the tree and pressed her hand against the gnarled roots. A chill swept over her, and her vision blurred as voices began to murmur, fragments of stories from ages past. In the midst of these whispers, one voice grew louder, calling her name.
“Amara...”
The voice was soft yet powerful, echoing within her mind like a long-forgotten song. And in that moment, Amara knew: this was only the beginning.
- Writer
