When the Rain Smelt of Cinnamon
When the first heavy droplet struck Kahurānaki’s cheek, he reached to adjust the woven palm cloak across his shoulders, expecting the usual sharp sting of an oceanic downpour. Instead, a rich spice filled the damp air, as though someone had tipped a sack of freshly ground bark straight into the clouds above the lagoon. Kahurānaki wiped his cheek with his…

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