>>5990053After you once more reach the bare minimum of decency (why do your people even need clothing?), Pahan helpfully pulls you up and hands you a crutch. The aluminium construction creaks and groans under your weight. “Sorry it is too short. Was the only one that didn't snap in half after...” Yamir retreats behind the veil of years, “so long.” You give him a nod before limbing ahead with an alarming lean.
“Wait, do you know where we are going?” You dreamily reply without glancing backwards, <span class="mu-i">"Two lefts. One right. Until long-clawed-hall straight go. Up steps climb. One last left. My men in beggar-room claw-grind."</span> Huh, how did you know that?
Yamir easily overtakes your three-legged pace, “Good prediction, but poor lateral sight. If guards see you wander alone, you will have more than one scar to show your friends.” His right claw gently taps the base of his antennae, “Check your ears, Sylvia." Something is missing. Horror slowly dawns on your waking mind. What, or who, has been translating for you all this time?
“You never asked for these, too concerned with your number games.” He holds your earpiece high in the air. In shock, your mind reverts to the language it knows best, <span class="mu-i">"Footprints I see. The prey sees not. If pleasing, shine."</span> Wait, wait, something's wrong. You struggle to form a full sentence in Lunar English, so unnatural the tongue contortions feel, “Sh- T- W- Wh-Wha h-h-ap-pened?”
“My light is uncertain. So are those of our best dissecters. What I know is that our people never learn to speak like yours. Even fresh-hatchlings can understand speeches by the long-winged, though their throat-root cannot as yet reply.” You cannot speak, but it seems like you can still understand Yamir's sing-song Shanghaian. “Many possibilities. Part of our gene, perhaps. Listening to drone's sleep-song, perhaps. But your case supports one theory in particular.”
Yamir promptly gives up the search for simple words, “Psychic imprint during incubation. After we stopped loss of blood with old medicine, I and Kosyt decided to place you in the Queen's care. She would pump nutrients into stomach, submerge you in healing water, then wrap everything in a silk shell.” His claws clumsily clatter against one another in mock knitting. “Growth like youngs before birth, normal procedure for our wounded. Usually takes less than a day. But for you it was two. We even thought you dead at one point.”
