Deathwalker 5.8

            “Foot? Head? These are not parts most use in this place.”
            The puzzled voice echoed musically from behind me. I flinched, tensed, and then tried to cover it by moving slowly and casually.
            “No, I guess not,” I said as I turned, smiling in what I hoped was a friendly manner. The smile faded slightly when all I found was blank walls, floor, and the door. Had the stranger already left? My instincts said no. And there was something about that voice.
            “Yet you speak of them. This is some deathwalker ritual?” The voice came again. This time the heavy accent registered in my brain, and I leaned back against the instaclean. My tense shoulders relaxed as I turned my gaze above me. Even expecting it, the shining beauty of the wings and face caught my breath.
            “No, Light One,” I answered respectfully. I had no hope of pronouncing the title correctly in his tongue, so I translated it into mine. His miniature face brightened with surprise.
            “You know Teg?” he asked, gawking at me suspiciously with eyes that shone like liquid crystal. I paused, wondering whether he had dropped a preposition again. Shrugging internally, I decided to answer both questions.
            “You are the first I have met, Light One,” I replied, still formal, “But my family has traded with the Teg before.”


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