I present to you:
Vohanna looked at the young man. He was sitting down with his back propped against the tree stump, only half-conscious. Bruised but otherwise unharmed, the youth had been taken down early in the fight. Milewe had made sure to drag any weapons away from him, with the exception of a single round shield, the use of which she would make clear to him soon enough.
The Saesar came up behind Milewe and kneeled beside her before the survivor. "Ask him if he knows why we spared him", she offered.
Milewe was about to begin translating when Mucha walked over, shock all but painted on her face. "You speak the language of these swine?", she spat out fiercely.
Vohanna shook her head sadly, rising to meet Mucha at eye level. "We weren't always at war, sora..."
If she still objected, this nevertheless seemed to placate her, or at least let her know there would be no further question of Vohanna’s authority. As she relented, Milewe turned gently to the young Nagled warrior and adressed him in his tongue.
“Mulak-mi anmmah a y?” she attempted, her accented rendering of the foreign tongue making her feel clumsy. Know you the reason why you were shown mercy?
The juvenile only stared at her, his face a mixture of revulsion, fear, and… total incomprehension. She repeated, more slowly, and this time, understanding registered on his features, though the look of hostility remained the same. It was to be expected
“Loa”, he said through clenched teeth. No
“Doesn’t understand, does he?” asked Vohanna, strenly, her hands busy with the cleaning of her spearhead. Judging by her ugly grin, Mucha seemed to relish the idea.
“No he doesn’t.”, confirmed Milewe, pausing to think of her next sentence. “Vi abu”, she motionned to the dead laying all around them. “Palla… a y goa malaat a en. Mulak?” Look around. You must return them to the earth, understand?
She waited. Again, no answer. “Mulak a la?” Do you understand me?
She poked him in the chest, hoping for a reaction, and pointed to the shield laying on the floor, making scooping moves with both hands. “A y goa malaat a en. Dig, damn you”
A single tear welled up in his eye and rolled down his aquiline nose. He lifted his arm to brush it away but the gesture died and his hand fell back to his thigh.
“Naam” he croaked, his skin taut against his cheekbones, defeat marking his every slight movement. Yes
“He gets it.”, said Milewe, finally. She nodded to him pitifully and got up. Vohanna handed her interpretor’s long bow back and gave the order to move out.
The trio left him to get a grip on himself, and dissapeared in the tall grasses where their sisters awaited them.
