The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page.
He is patient while she tests his homeland, his name, on her tongue - and she says them fairly well for a mime without the elegance of a lifetime speaker. A little short of elegant did give him pause to think, however, that perhaps her lineage would extend back to a place near enough to his home country to be worthy of his time beyond his usual curiosity. He waits on her, ever keen and attentive, always watching for the ghost of her deity to cross her eyes to wish him harm again. It had died for now, but that did not mean he ought not watch for it’s return.
Then, all at once, she is speaking to him - again, short and abrupt words with little elegance or preciseness behind them. Speak it? Perhaps the second demand wired into the first would imply his speaking his mother tongue. “This place. Needs excitement. Pain. Soft. Peaceful. Too long.”
“The language is sacred and is not meant for unclean ears.” That is his reply at first, but his expression is one of deep thought, his eyes perusing her, “Perhaps, though, being touched of Apep, you may hear it...”
"Are`svyri `emasw ai`emi je tencaji `nacpi `nrem`nymi (ti aspi en ream enkeemi)""You were very surprised to know that I know Coptic." A generic phrase she would not understand, but it does erase his negligence of the young female’s sentiments regarding disruption of peace. “You look like you could be my kin.” He considers her again, following up on his statement with an observation so that he could imply that he would not perform tricks as if he were a jester. “Too bad you could not be, too young as you are.”
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