Nneka Solomon - Novel

So when she saw the man standing at the edge of the cassava field, she did not run. She tilted her head, the way her grandmother taught her, like a bird deciding whether a snake is friend or food. He was tall. Too tall. His legs were long as herons' legs, his neck thin as a reed. He wore grey linen that drank the twilight instead of reflecting it. His skin was the colour of old parchment, the kind her grandfather used to wrap tobacco leaves.