Sixty's more than her species gets.

She tries not to think about it because they will kill her baby. She thinks about music.

- okay. How long does your species live?

Fortyish years. She's five.

When humans are five they are like so. When Elves are five they are like so, even smaller.

...okay.

Does your species make magically binding oaths?

No? The fuck?

In that case we're not going to hurt your baby. Why did you think we'd kill your baby?

'Cause they're red. - music.

I don't know what you mean and it might be important and I promise not to hurt your child unless it's the only way to keep my people safe.

Too-ah-too-ee-ay, bitch.

...he is so confused. 

He leaves to go tell Beka all this.

"That's really weird."

"Yep! I'm really confused! I would love to just swear we won't hurt the baby but that is totally the kind of stupid decision the Enemy would try to maneuver me into making." Hug. "I don't want to hurt the baby. I don't think - I have no idea, really, I guess, what it could possibly be."

"...do you want me to try talking to her?"

"It might work? It can't hurt?'

"Just osanwë or should I go?"

"She seems freaked out by osanwë, why don't I take you there."

Nod nod.

Macalaurë and guards bring Beka and Kat to new upset Beka-lookalike's cell.

"Hi!"

What the corpsefucking shit is going on.

"We don't know what's going on either." She's sending translation. "We don't wanna hurt you or your baby. This one's mine, her name's Kat." She holds up Kat.

Why is that baby so ugly.

"She's supposed to look like that."