A black radio between the Y-shaped branches announced that an icy storm was headed toward Omusarakuumba. 

The presenter, who was coughing and sneezing, apologised for the short notice. First, Kambangane waved a finger at the villagers and prophesied that the gods were punishing Omusarakuumba with stone-sized raindrops. 

In response, the villagers joked about his truthful prank. Afterwards, he chopped blackthorn trees and carried bundles of firewood on his head. Soon the sun dipped below the horizon, and he worshipped the mountain-sized heap of firewood behind his hut. Later, he lit the blue and yellow fire while his peers drank homebrewed beer. 

“The sun needs a buckskin blanket,” he said. 

That starry night, only the golden fire from Kambangane’s hut lit up the huts along the street. Later, he spotted a fist-sized spider frozen on the door hinges and burned it in the flame. At that point, Kambangane looked at his rusted watch, and it was past the rooster’s call. 

So, he grabbed a broomstick and hurried toward the chicken coop. 

“How dare you oversleep,” he scolded the naked-neck birds, poking the stick at the stone-hard roosters. 

On his way back, he tripped over a spitting cobra and landed with his hands on the snake’s head. 

“Was it you or the cold that robbed me of my chickens?” he questioned, strangling the snake. 

Then he dropped the rope-like serpent into the fire. He bit his bottom lip and shuffled toward Witfoot, tucking its black head inside the belly.

 “Why aren’t you yapping?” he asked. 

Then he kicked it but broke his big toe because the dog had hardened into stone. By now, he was adding more wood to the fire. The crackling fire produced a skyward yellow flame, which illuminated the rounded huts at the foot of the ice-crowned mountain. 

Kambangane grabbed a teapot and was about to brew tea when he spotted a twisted-horn kudu basking next to the yellow fire. 

The heavenly meat triggered his appetite, and he grabbed a stainless steel knife. Instantly, he sneaked behind the statue-like kudu and stabbed it in the neck. 

Unfortunately, the rusty knife broke because the kudu had frozen, and the bouncing knife stabbed him in the chest. However, he downplayed the incident, claiming his blood had clotted due to frost. 

The rising sun appeared and cast its rays on the dead goats, the lifeless chickens, and Kambangane’s blood-spattered chest. 

Slowly, the scorching sun brought the kudu back to life.