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You continue wringing out the shirt in your hand, your eyes cast down. After a moment you look up, look into his eyes, and raise your eyebrows apologetically. Then you raise your hand to your throat, pat your larynx, and shake your head sadly to indicate that you have no ability to communicate with him.



“I don't understand these humans.” The man seems to say to himself. He then points to the city over the hill, speaking slower and more loudly, “I-lar-nek.” He then pats his chest, “Lait-ai-no; I am a servant of Bokrug. When do we leave, Silent One?” He makes a walking motion with his fingers, and follows it with an open handed gesture toward the ground. “Or, if you wish, rest here.”

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