The Stranger Kpkuang -

No one in the village remembered when Kpkuang first arrived. He simply appeared one mist-hung morning, sitting on the old well at the edge of the thorn fence, whittling a piece of driftwood into a shape no one could name.

Some say he was a spirit. Others say a traveler cursed to never belong. But all agree—the stranger Kpkuang was never truly a stranger. He was just passing through, the way silence passes through a crowded room. the stranger kpkuang

One night, a fire broke out in the grain storage. While others ran for water, Kpkuang walked into the flames. When the smoke cleared, the fire was gone—and so was he. Only on the scorched ground remained a single carving: a figure with no face, walking toward a sun that never set. No one in the village remembered when Kpkuang first arrived