-----A sigh almost escaped Sol's lips, though he hid it well. Instead, he looked pointedly at the elf and suggested, "Perhaps ye'd best write down what ye want, as I want t'know what ye want wi' that lot."
-----Whisper looked down at his scratchings in the dirt, then back up at the company. He mimicked holding a piece of parchment, and writing on it, all the while looking expectantly at the humans.
-----Pil's expression darkens with confusion. The bronze-skinned warrior looks back and forth between the prisoner and Whisper.
-----"Ye can't have 'em," the old man says, leaning on his staff while referring to the prisoners. "They be mine. I tend to plant them."
-----Rinda looks over at the old man and almost laughs. She then looks at everyone and says, "I think Whisper means that he wants to ask them questions." Looking over at the elf, she asks, "Is that right?"
-----"They're going t'find that difficult if they don't read elven. Unless there's something else ye'd like t'tell us?" Sol asks the elf, his tone wry.
-----Raven studies Whisper and then says to Whisper, "You write and I'll pass it along to them. That would be best anyway so we know what you are asking." Raven's eyes narrow a bit, "No offense, but we don't know you. I got a good feelin' about you, but I've been known to be wrong about people. Write down your questions and I'll ask 'em to our prisoners."
-----"An' I doubt any o' us actually have something t'write on, let alone with." A dark frown creases the young man's handsome features as he adds, "Least not anymore."
-----Whisper's own face darkens, and his blue eyes begin to glitter as they narrow. With the ease and surety that marks a great hunting cat, he easily rises out of his crouch. Jaw muscles clench and unclench as he considers these mortals.
-----"I...will...ask, myself." The words are softly spoken, barely more then a whisper, and unable to carry far. A grimace of pain flashes across Whisper's features, but just as the smile did not touch his eyes, neither did the pain. "They are...your...prisoners." Long stretches of solitude had left him with without speech for too long, almost. The words were hard to form and expel. "So I...will...abide with...your," Whisper turned his head away, and covered his mouth just as he coughed dryly, "imposition."
-----He coughed again, more harshly, and not quite as dry.
-----Too long.
-----Too damn long.
-----He felt a rawness in his throat, and the small spatters of wetness on his hand. Turning away, he concealed his hand, and wiped it on his leathers. He flickered his tongue over his lips, and reached for the wineskin in his satchel. Unstoppering it, he took a sip of the mixture within.
-----He cursed himself for not keeping up the charade and giving in to the flash of irritation the human's demand had ignited within him.
-----When he turned back, his face was more neutral in its demeanor, but the eyes never changed.
-----As Whisper coughs, Raven steps back to stand in front of Rinda. Raven murmurs to Rinda, "So he can talk and understand common. I guess I was wrong about him." Raven's stance changes from one of ease to one of readiness for the unknown. Raven waits for Whisper to finish talking before saying, "Imposition? We're not a stationary store. Out here the sword is mightier than the pen." Raven steps out of Whisper's path to the prisoners, "Be our guest, just don't be killing any of them." Raven turns to Sol, "Okay with you?"
-----"Fine, but only on one condition. Whisper, if ye do actually manage t'loosen their tongue, figuratively speaking, then I want ye t'let us know of any information that's o' military value. Or if it's more about these villagers." Sol's gaze had turned into a glare as he spoke to Whisper, but it's plain enough that it was only the subject matter that had hardened the Gorian's countenance.
-----Whisper's lips curled up when his sensitive ears caught Raven's whispered words to the woman. "You don't... know me, human. And... I doubt... that you will... ever understand me." Although his voice was getting clearer after consuming whatever was in his wineskin, he would never be able to raise his voice above what it was now.
-----The elf turned his attention to the steelclad Sol. "Speech is...discomfiting... to me. But... I will ask your... questions as... well." He felt something rasp against the back of his throat, and tried clearing it several times, once again covering his lower face whilst doing so.