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Thwum.
Tane looked at the ball. Its woven surface was the color of dried blood and sunset. He touched it, and the pumice inside shifted with a sigh— hssssss —like the volcano remembering fire. papahd soccer
“Game over,” Tane said.
Tane stepped forward. “No.”
Dawn came cold and gray. The village gathered around the circular pitch marked with volcanic ash. The Ahurei stood at one end, waiting. Tekoa’s team sneered at the woven ball. “It’s a fruit basket,” one mocked. ” one mocked. Then he struck.
Then he struck.