The very end of Khussalleh's narration seemed to finally trigger a response from the so-far silent Glawdoch.
"You managed to avoid the greatest probability of painful death through a festering wound cat. It was highly unlikely for you to find a surgeon as skilled as myself to ensure you were truly intact."
She exposed a canine in an indication of displeasure similar to that which she described her uncle showing. "First, I'm not a cat, or a fox, or any other animal you other sentients may find me similar to. I'm a tribeswoman of Breeze, just as you are a dweller of the swamps and not a lizard or a turtle or such. Second, yes, I was indeed lucky to avoid a septic wound, and none of your insistence on painfully rechecking it did anything to help something that was already healing."
Khussalleh's sharp, arrowlike gaze of displeasure seemed to bounce off Glawdoch as if he were armoured in the finest plate, and he went on to inquire about several other things which had aroused his curiosity.
"Alright, but what about dehydration? How did you survive without water for nearly three days while you were riding nonstop?"
"Well that is easier. I will say one thing for my people's love of growing things, fruits and vegetables have a high water content. The scout I stole the hart from had a small pouch of food attached to the saddle, and though the contents were a bit smushed by the time I got to them, they managed to keep me alive long enough for me to collapse. After I woke, I went searching for the creek or stream those forest trails are usually close to. Later, I took a waterskin and some food stores from a scout cache that my tribe had set up nearer to the borders and less populated portions of the forest."
Glawdoch leaned forward and asked his final burning question. "I understand that you ca- tribespeople are more flexible that other races, but I've always wondered to what extent. Is that how you and that other female who was hunting you managed to shoot eachother from such an awkward position?"
Rather than responding, Khusalleh stood from the table, turn around to face the front wall of the inn, and then whipped her head in a half circle so that her chin was directly over her spine. The others all jumped a bit, which elicited an alarming creak from both Synth's and Ditha's chairs. After letting out a giggle and then blushing from the distinctly unwarriorlike noise, Khussalleh demonstrated her ability to behave as if her spine were made of cloth instead of bone. Most of the group seemed to find it slightly offputting from their expressions, though Glawdoch looked to be able to overcome said feeling with his more prevalent fascination, and Dex seemed not to mind the strange movements at all after his initial surprise.
Glawdoch muttered to himself as he drew a box from the large bag beside the table. Ditha hadn't noticed before, but it seemed the swamp dweller had brought a backpack with him. He knew they were often mocked as turtles, but he had never heard of someone from the kingdom having a shell. Now as he saw the seemingly oversized pack, he understood why the epithet had arisen.
Glawdoch once again marvelously ignored the eyes of everyone at the table as he opened the box, took out a stick with a dark tip, and used it to start scribbling on a piece of papyrus. Ditha's eyebrows rose, he had never seen a writing implement that could make a mark on paper without using ink. He speculated from the way the lines formed while Glawdoch was writing that it must be similar to the interaction between chalk and slate. He realized he was only half right when Glawdoch snorted in irritation and brushed the drooping cuff of his long sleeve across a few lines to remove a fly that had landed on the paper, and they remained perfectly intact.
Ditha glanced away from the dweller, as most people would shorten the usual name for citizens of the kingdom, and studied Khusalleh. He could imagine the sorts of things Glawdoch might be writing, if it was a medical journal as Ditha assumed it to be. Thin body, limbs about three quarters the width of an average imperial, taken to be the average for the standard measurements of any sentient. 12 hands high from heel to top of skull, not counting the vertical, rounded triangle ears which add four hands to height. Light fur from the back of the neck to the top of the ankles on the posterior portion of the body, dark brown with forest green stripes. Non-prehensile tail, six hands in length with minimal fur. Yellow eyes with slit pupils, note to study characteristics of sight under low-light conditions. Wiry musculature and flexible movements exceeding average range by 30-45 degrees.
Dex leaned forward with an unsure gaze and said, "I know that green soldiers aren't known for their alertness, and you did mention they were staring into a fire, which I would have punished them for severely if I ever discovered it, but you sneaking close enough to use that trick with the arrows from near the front still seems improbable. Yet, I've known good men, veterans even, who had their guards up and were still ambushed by the Tribe. Is it a trade secret or could you possibly sate an old wardog's curiosity?"
Khussalleh turned her eyes to him, and replied, "It is supposed to be a secret, but now that I am a wanted criminal of the tribe, I see no harm in telling you. But first a question, do you know why we are called the breeze tribe?"
Dex raised his chin to indicate he did not.
"Tribespeople have a certain talent, much like that of the Arcani and you Imperials. The difference is that it does not manifest in an obvious manner. I'm not surprised you have never heard of it, as the tribe has not been involved in a serious war for the last century. Many of the "well blessed" tribespeople can speak with the wind, which we call having Breezetongue. We can command it to boost an arrow further in flight, or whisper to it that it should carry our noise and scent away from potential prey, or ask it to part more easily from in front of our mount to give it more speed. Priestesses are chosen partly for the strength of this talent in them. Like my mother, I have fair skill in Breezetongue, and what I used it for most often was an aid in my stalking."
Glawdoch's scratching at the papyrus, which had begun to slow, once more took on a furious cast as this new information sprang out of hiding.
Synth mumbled to the table, "I can't believe that your own people, your own family would betray you like that."
Khussalleh's tail turned in a slight downward arc and she quirked her lips halfway between a wry smile and an irked sneer, "The Breeze tribe is a strange place when compared to others, as I have learned from listening to all of your stories. All are supposedly equal, but anyone from the central village is treated with great respect. Priestesses are not to be trifled with either, especially those who are close to the High Priestesses. Violence of any kind is not encouraged, and anyone too warlike in temperament is seen as more of a danger than a company of Empire soldiers. Afterall, they might infect others with their aggressive attitude. The ideal tribesperson is content with what she has, spending her days collecting the bounty of the forest and making her den pretty. Oh, and having kits. As many kits as possible."
"For coming from such an introverted culture, you seem to speak imperial quite well", said Ditha.
"Yes, well, scouts are supposed to be fairly fluent in imperial. We interact with the Empire more frequently than others of our race, and it is a language that many sentients have a smattering of, given the empires centrality of both culture and geographic position. Besides, it was interesting to learn speech that didn't always wheeze and hiss like a half-dead hart."
"Well then, since no one else seems to have any questions", Ditha glanced around to ensure the truth of this statement and received raised chins in reply, "we should continue with the next person's story."
Three sets of eyes fell on Glawdoch, and after a moment, a fourth. He seemed to come to the end of his observations and finish his scrawling with a final curl. Then he noticed the universal silence of his table and glanced up. In a deadpan tone he muttered, "Oh joy, it's finally time to relate the tale of the wonderous Glawdoch, Black Alchemist of the Kingdom of the swamps."
