Quoted By:
“Listen, I made my way up mountain fer trade, trade!” You reach down into your satchel and pull out the braid of tusks you bought off that fat Indian and shake it for emphasis. That gets their attention, and you realize you’re holding the equivalent of a hundred dollars in front of twenty odd men in the wilderness. Taking the fact that none of them put an arrow in you for the braid, you continue.
“When I took my ascent I saw me an Injun, a bad one. He transfigured to a raven, like them that were here last night.”
You gesticulate now to your belt and the bird carcasses. Though you have attempted to lessen your range of expression, you still have no idea how much is getting through. You all seem to be of the same mind, as the young chief taps a brave on the shoulder, whispers to him, and he goes off running to the village. The lull is full of anxiety on both sides. You pick up some bread and break a piece off for the chiefs, but they politely turn it down. That buys you about a minute of activity, and the next fifteen are spent with shuffling feet, stifled coughs, and studiously avoided eye contact.
You spy the brave sent to the village returning with someone else in tow long before he reaches the ridge. It’s a young one, not yet a man. He comes right up to the line of chiefs, and to the young chief specifically, who briefs him on the situation. At least that’s what you assume he’s doing. The boy is maybe eleven or twelve, long hair, a headband, but no decorations. He wears no arm band and has no marks. His eyes look red and puffy, but are set into granite, his face is expressionless, and when he speaks his voice is raw, but just as unreadable.
“So white man…you talk to me, I talk to the chiefs. Who are you? Why are you here? Your kind are not welcome this far up the mountain.”
This, you can work with. You shift your weight to the other leg.
“Well boy, as I was tryin’ to tell before, I ain’t no paragon o’ my race. I’m here fer trade, I got these long marks from an Injun who said they fetch curious wares ‘round the upper mount. Now…comin’ up I did see me some demon that looked akin to you and yers. I was huntin’ fer varmint to fill the stew pot and came upon ‘im walkin’ round some cedar and discoursin’ to it. Then he flapped ‘imself into some raven bird and took to the night.”
You keep your story vague, only highlighting the most general information. The boy remains passive, translating your words as you speak them, but pauses when you mention the shaman. His eyes widen in shock, surprise, and fear, then narrow to furious arrowheads. He bites his way through translating your story to the chiefs, snarling all the while. The same reactions ripple down the line of chiefs as he gets through the last of it.
