Mwanga Kamari strode the dusty path with sure, confident steps. It was as if the milky orbs of his eyes were like those of any normal man. Though he walked with a staff, he had little need of one. While no longer a youngling, he was still a man of considerable strength and vigor. Not slowing his pace a bit, he turned his face to the night sky and sniffed at the cool breeze.
“It must be a full moon tonight, old friend. Things seem altogether unsettled and ill at ease in the bush.”
Kunguru pecked at the lobe of the old man’s ear. “And how, aged one, would you have any inkling of whether the moon is even out at all? Unless the way of things has much changed, you remain every bit as sightless as a geriatric cave bat. Tell me then, great mwalimu, have you discovered the wisdom of growing new eyes?”
With a wry chuckle, Kamari rapped the cantankerous bird on the head with the knob of his staff, “Hush! I know it is your nature to be a foul-tempered being but there is no call for rudeness. There are evil things about tonight and we would do well to not mix with them. Fly then to the village and let my brother know I shall be along directly. Do not dawdle, please.”
The great raven grumbled, but winged away into the night, in his mind a silent prayer his beloved companion would not dawdle either.