Neverwinter Forest Pardon, I'm getting my scream on

He let out a soft snrk of amusement as she flopped down. His eyes had long since moved away from the sky, more interested in her physical presence than mapping the stars. The stars would remain. Ground here must be tough, he said, looking at how caked on the dirt was. Wet with melting snow and ice, still frozen from the winter. Kiswahili. It's what I speak at home. This was the first time anyone had asked. It made him nostalgic. He peppered in his native tongue here and there, but he hadn't anyone else to speak with. He missed the vibrancy of his native tongue, the wide-open vowels and trills. Common — English — was too harsh for him. There were plenty of words he mispronounced.