39

(Previous Post: 38)

"What's going on?" You demand to know. You're confused about the presence of these people, about what you've just learned of your parents, and about the implications of what Roisin just said. You fully sit up and stare intently at the old woman--at Nan.

"Tell me." You say, your tone deadly serious.

“Hoo byaig a vardo from thribli 'nd just gokhyi, grawkin.” Nan speaks quickly, punctuating sentences with sharp thumps from her cane. Between the anger in her voice and her thick Irish accent, the English and randomly blended Shelta she speaks are difficult to follow. “Ye've been snared rapid, an' now ye tink you deserve answers? Gloree me—we laabi in dolimi, because ye say 'they are coming,' but ye force us to tcholi lud through woods 'nd boreens. I'm jaded. Who is coming? Why didja take the vardo?”

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