Miry furrowed her brow inquisitively, processing the language. It lacked many of the phonetic groupings she’d expect of a drakkan derivate, fewer of the harsh x and k sounds and had many more long vowels than expected, though it possessed the same propensity of z sounds and other fuzzy voiced consonants. If it was a derivate, it was surely long-distant, and likely blended with a few other languages besides.

She was so intent on puzzling out the sound of it that she nearly missed Zak’s questions. She considered for a moment, eventually signing something to the effect of [i]’water, please, if it’s not too much trouble’[/i] before turning to regard the other old Drakkan, blinking confusedly at the promise of tea.

She hadn’t thought tea plants grew on this side of the spine. 

Lord Zakroti’s retinue was... particularly diverse, to put it delicately. Miry had never seen anyone like - Gaikus, was the name Zakroti had given - nor even read of them in books. She resisted the urge to metaphorically pounce on the old man and interrogate him about his homeland, visibly wringing her hands and chewing on her lip in thought. 

Nenra blinked at Zakroti’s sudden jovial manner. “I’m certain it’s - of considerable boredom for you,” she replied, a faint bitterness sneaking back into her tone. “You noble sorts don’t often bother with the likes of us. Corn and wheat from the human lands, and pearlpeas and lady’s fingers, fields as far as the eye can see, but nothing else of note - well, the plague. Even our lord and lady don’t send folk to collect the tithe anymore.” The laugh that escaped her was a bitter one, though she soon brightened again. “It’s just us, on occasion family from the nearby city, and on occasion we go there to sell our produce and so on. It’s dull, to some, but we make the most of it.” 

At the offer of a drink, she paused. Wine was all well and good, though she easily got drunk on it, as much from a lack of taste for it as anything. Her family, and indeed everyone in the village, made a variety of fruit-and-grain drinks, using really whatever was on hand at the time, so that they could be enjoyed all year; she’d grown quite used to a healthy amount of it, to cut the heat and dryness after a day in the field. But those drinks they made at home were all quite easy to hold, easy enough for even the youngest of children to drink freely; gin, she knew, was somewhat less palatable. 

She decided that, while she could easily ride a horse while (at least mildly) intoxicated, it was far better to keep her wits and balance around her while on a mount she didn’t understand.

And while in the presence of drakken. 

“I’ll just take water, as well,” she finally said, automatically getting up to retrieve it for herself before she realized that she had no idea how, or even who, to assist. After a moment, she sat down again, coughing lightly to hide her embarrassment.