Deathwalker 3.8

            He immediately launched into a story about a group of businessmen he had been entertaining who had finally requested an interpreter, assuming his strange phrases and words must be part of some unique dialect. Under other conditions, the story would have been hilarious. With my stomach trying to eat its way out of my insides, it was a lot harder to laugh along or even follow along. The constant nerves from the last few hours had only made the gnawing sensation worse, and my head was starting to feel fuzzy and strange. As if I was floating instead of standing.
            And of course, right as he finished and looked at me expectantly, my stomach growled so loudly that I instinctively glanced down to see if it had actually eaten its way to the outside. When I caught his startled expression, I almost wished it had. This was not my idea of making a good impression.
            Heat rose on the back of my neck as Ter Fless blinked at me. I opened my mouth but was at a loss for what to say. A cough drew our attention to Ter Dryst. Despite his bland expression, I swore I could see the amusement leaking through. I mentally winced and braced myself for a dry remark.
            “Perhaps, we should move ahead, Ter Fless,” he said instead. Ter Fless blinked a moment more before nodding enthusiastically.
            “Of course, you’re right. Deathwalker Sephtis will have little enough time as it is,” he agreed merrily, as if the embarrassing interruption had never occurred.
            Time for what? My treacherous stomach dropped, and I wished futilely that my brain would work again. Ter Fless gestured at the wall, and it lit with a map of the system. It was my turn to blink as my brain struggled to catch up.

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