Traveler by Greg Weisman

Author:Greg Weisman [Weisman, Greg]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2016-12-04T13:00:00+00:00

They sat around the campfire, while Thalyss prepared a stew of wild carrots and snap peas and potatoes and spices that the night elf had produced by emptying his pack. (“No venison,” the druid had said, with a wink at Makasa.) As he stirred the stew, Thalyss spoke of gathering each of the vegetables, carefully and in turn, so that more would grow. “That, of course, is my function as a druid. I do what I can to protect the wild.”

Aram was instantly fascinated. “Like the birds and the beasts?”

“Well, my specialty is flora, not fauna. But, yes. We so-called sentient species do an incredible amount of quite insentient violence to the natural order. Druids try to balance that with restoration, recovery, and care.”

“Magic,” Makasa grumbled darkly.

“When a flower blooms, is that not magical? When a lamb is born to an ewe, are mysteries not revealed? Yes, I am a magic user of a kind. But trust me, my magics are of the natural order—certainly when compared to the forged axe that has so unnaturally cut down nearly every tree in these parts.”

Thalyss only had one small stewpot and one large spoon, so they took turns passing the concoction around atop a folded strip of blanket to save their hands (if not always their tongues) from being burnt. When divided by four, the quantity fell short of a feast, but the fare was warm and rich and zesty. Murky seemed quite impressed with the spices, and he poured the remaining contents of the spice vial down his gullet. Instantly, his eyes bugged out—even more than usual. He spat out so much slimy saliva, he nearly put out the fire. Fortunately, the kaldorei seemed prepared for this and whipped the stewpot and its precious contents out of harm’s way.

Murky ran to the river and completely submerged his head for several minutes. Finally, he came back, dripping and drooling and apologizing. “Murky mrrrgl, kuldurrree. Mrrrgl, mrrrgl, kuldurrree.”

“Call me Thalyss.”

“Dlus.”

“Thalyss.”

“Dlus …”

“No. THAL-yss.”

“DUL-uss. Duluss.”

“Close enough,” Thalyss said.

“Hello, Duluss,” Aram said with a smile. “I’m Urum. This is Mrksa.”

“Duluss, Urum, Mrksa, n Murky!” Murky said, clapping his hands together and smiling gleefully. “Duluss, Urum, Mrksa, Murky mmmrrglllms!”

“Mrgle, mmmrrglllms,” Thalyss said, nodding.

Makasa and Aram both sat up, saying in virtual unison, “You speak murloc?”

“Of course. You do not?”

“No,” said Makasa, glowering. Aram just shook his head.

“Oh, it is a wonderful language. True, it can be very difficult to get one’s tongue around the subtleties of pronunciation. But well worth the effort. It is so beautifully expressive, would you not agree?”

“It’s gibberish,” Makasa stated.

Thalyss raised a slim white eyebrow. “As is every language to those who know it not, correct?”

Aram was getting drowsy, but he fought it, intrigued. “What did he say?”

“Hmm?” Thalyss asked.

“Before,” Aram replied. “He said our names and something else, and you agreed.”

“Oh. Yes. He called us all friends. Mmmrrglllms. Friends.”

“Mmmrrglllms,” Murky parroted. “Furunds.”

“Friends,” Aram corrected.

“Furunds …”

“Friends.”

“Frunds. Frunds.”

“Close enough.”

Murky grinned broadly, and Aram did, too. Thalyss twinkled considerably.

Murky prompted Aram: “Urum, Murky, frunds. Mmmrrglllms.”

Aram said, “Aram, Murky, murguhlums.

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