Noel got me to explain to her why I was acting out. I explained how strange those words on the cave’s entrance had looked up close, how inhumanly perfect they appeared. She didn’t reply, but her hand found its way to my shoulder. I thanked her and gave her a smile to show I was okay.

I realized something while sitting this close to Noel. Despite her people not having a written language, they seemed to practice good dental hygiene. Either that or their mouths were magic or something, because her teeth were clean and her breath wasn’t unpleasant.

I decided to take this opportunity to explore Noel’s language and my ‘translation magic’ some more. Learning things always helped me calm down. I asked Noel if she could help me do some more experiments on my translation magic, and she agreed to say some more words for me while enunciating as best she could. I made a few observations.

My magic seemed to be compensating for Noel’s language’s lack of vocabulary by filling in her sentences with words she hadn’t said. It would substitute some of her words for ones that would make more sense to me. So if her word for ears was “head horns,” they would just become “ears” for me. On the other hand, it would sometimes go as far as creating entire sentences that she hadn’t said, just to explain a word or concept for which there was no equivalent in English.

Oh yeah, for some reason it only translated words into English. Names seemed to be an exception, but it never translated words into the other languages that I knew, even if there was a better translation to be made. This was really strange, but I could only assume this was because English was my native language, so maybe the ‘magic’ preferred to translate into it.

This “magic” was also describing some of my words for her, while occasionally leaving untranslated sounds for some words that it could not easily explain. Noel said I was speaking like any other elf from her tribe, except I’d get a little long winded sometimes. I asked her to describe my tone and accent, and she said they were average.

Doing this sort of thing really did calm me down. Experiments, research, really any sort of academic or intellectual activity helped me ignore my worries and concerns, while focusing intensely on the task at hand.

I wanted to keep analyzing my ‘translation magic,’ and was about to ask Noel about ‘magic’ in general, but the rain finally stopped and we decided to start making our way back to her tribe as quickly as possible. We each grabbed an offering stick and walked over to the still burning fire.

Walking through the mud in my bare feet felt disgusting, especially when blades of grass would get in between my toes, and sometimes made my feet itch. That reminded me that I had forgotten the sinew at the cave’s entrance! Well, no point in going back for it when Noel didn’t have the other part of her shoe.

The offering sticks were pretty simple. They were uneven sticks of wood, neither alike, but with a simple mark carved into the base of the stick. Some type of tinder was wrapped around the other end of the stick, held together by straps of hide that would probably burn off too.

Noel put her stick above the fire, slowly rotating it as if she was roasting a marshmallow. I followed suit with my own stick, until the tinder at the end finally began to smoke. Noel explained how the tinder and hide were covered in a special sap that burned for a long time but took a while to catch fire. It took what felt like a dozen minutes or so before Noel’s stick caught fire, followed closely by mine.

We cleared up what was left of our campsite. Noel didn’t want to put out the fire I’d made but I insisted. We couldn’t leave evidence like this lying around or someone might realize we had made our own fire instead of getting The Terrible’s blessing. Besides, what if we caused a forest fire or something.

And so I put out the fire and scattered all the ash and embers in the mud while Noel looked away. We grabbed a couple of large waxy leaves to cover our burning offering sticks, since bursts of water still sometimes poured out of the canopy and it would really suck if our flames were doused on the way back to Noel’s tribe.

---

On the way back, Noel and I got our stories straight. We’d say she found me on her way to The Terrible’s cave. I had been wandering around the forest, searching for help, because I’d been swept down a river but miraculously survived. I was from a far away land where an elder had cast a magic spell on me to help me communicate with other tribes if I ever got lost. To make it more believable, we had to explain that the elder was well-versed in astrology and prophecy, and was able to read my future with his skills. He had cast this magic on me after realizing that I would need it in the future.

Not a very scientific or rationally believable story, but in a world of elves and magic, it was probably good enough. Next, I asked Noel for an explanation of her tribe; things like important members, rituals, traditions, norms and practices. She should also, I said, tell me about her family. Noel hesitated but began with her family.

Her mother died when Noel was still young. She was going to give birth to Noel’s first sibling, but both the baby and the mother died because of complications during childbirth. The elders of the clan blamed evil spirits, while her father’s brother—Noel’s uncle—said it was because Noel’s mother had displeased the gods.

Noel’s father was a great hunter, but losing his partner made him rash and irascible. He channeled his anger and despair to hunting bigger, more difficult prey. From Farro Birds and Alata Banes to Sativus Hogs and Flying Goderes, Noel’s father hunted them all.

But it wasn’t enough. One day, he set off alone, late in the night, and came back the next day with the carcass of a whole Yuca Bovine! He was covered in blood and scratches, but he didn’t care. The entire tribe called him a hero, the greatest hunter since the age of the gods. They sang many praises, and still sing songs of him to this day.

Noel paused. “When I was younger, I loved listening to those songs. My father, the hero! The greatest hunter of them all!” She laughed. “And I used to cry when the songs went on. When they mentioned how no hunt was too dangerous for him, no monster too monstrous, no beast too wild.”

“The great hunter was never satisfied. He refused to hunt with other elves, convinced they would hold him back. The elders cautioned him, told him he was young and foolish. No amount of glory would bring his partner back. He should settle down for his daughter and find a new partner!”

“But he refused. He refused and drank deeply one night. Fueled by passion, he vowed to defeat the great Carica Serpent that guarded what used to be the tribe’s summer watering hole near the Northern Plains of Serenity. Before anyone could stop him, he left on his own, with only his trusty blade: The Dragon’s Tooth.”

“This blade was always given to the greatest hunter in the tribe, but nobody believed a single elf could hunt the vicious Carica Serpent. My father was faster than any other elf. My uncle chased after him, followed closely by other hunters, but by the time they reached the watering hole, the Carica Serpent was slain. Its long, slender body lying next to the water’s edge, curling like a sand dune.”

“My father’s body was found next to the beast. A large gash in his stomach, oozing blood. One of the monster’s teeth lay on the ground beside him. The song ends with the verse: Carica’s blood burned to ash by Rosta’s anger. The water turned bitter with Jora’s tears.”