The sun's golden rays glinting off the thatched roofs of the round huts that circled the great indaba. The kraal bustled with life—courtiers dressed in richly patterned isishweshwe fabric strolled between the huts, while the izinduna, the king's trusted advisors, engaged in serious discussions near the towering daka walls.

Panonetsa stood near the entrance of the king's iKhaya, the grand hut adorned with beadwork and colorful banners that fluttered in the breeze. He played idly with a small, carved wooden frog hidden in his hand, its smooth surface worn from countless hours of handling. It was a simple creation, enchanted with a little bit of magic he had coaxed out of one of the iSangoma’s apprentices—a harmless charm, but one that would leap and croak wildly when triggered by the slightest touch.

The courtyard was his playground, and the courtiers—his unwitting participants. He was known throughout the kraal as a trickster, a boy with quick wit and a penchant for mischief. The women would scold him as he darted past them, and the warriors would shake their heads with mock disapproval, but Panonetsa knew they all secretly enjoyed the levity he brought to the otherwise solemn court.

His eyes scanned the courtyard, searching for the perfect spot to set his trap. He knew the rhythms of the kraal well—the paths the izinduna took on their way to the indaba, the women who gathered water from the well, the children who raced between the huts in games of chase. There were plenty of potential victims, but Panonetsa was a patient hunter. Timing was everything, and he needed just the right moment to strike.

He slipped the wooden frog into a patch of tall, dry grass near the edge of the path, partially hidden but still visible enough to catch the eye of a curious passerby. With a final, satisfied grin, he crouched low behind a nearby hut, just out of sight. The trap was set.