Chapter Content
Oskar stood bare-chested beneath the sun, red dust clinging to his skin, ringed by horses and men who smelled of leather, sweat, and iron.
The Fulɓe—called Fulani by the Germans—formed a loose circle around them: sixty horsemen, spears upright, old rifles resting casually across saddles. Not armor. Not discipline. But confidence. The kind that did not need shouting.
Lamido Umaru sat his horse easily, looking down at Oskar with a faint, knowing smile.
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