The murmurs of the villagers still rippled through the night air, like a thousand whispers carried by the drums. The rain had not yet fallen, but the anticipation hung heavy, humming in the crowd's bones. The older woman's eyes glinted, watching Isabella like a hunter waiting for the prey to step into the trap.
Isabella rose slowly, every motion deliberate, like she was performing already. Her fruit was tossed aside, forgotten, her chin lifting with a defiance that silenced the closest whispers. She dusted her hands against her dress and tilted her head ever so slightly toward the older woman.
"Alright then," Isabella said, her voice carrying easily despite the noise, smooth and confident, every syllable laced with fire. "I accept your challenge."
