Not getting a say in the matter is bad. Something being bad doesn't mean that it doesn't happen.

There's a sound like a thousand pages being ripped in half as space itself opens up, and a young man staggers through at a run. He's already screaming as he hits the ground, angry at the spatial jump, the ground, the sweat stinging his eyes, and frankly a lot of other things as well. He pops back up to his feet in and instant but he's weaving and unsteady. Even still the first thing he does is swing a wild fist at the space he just passed through. 

It's only after he tried the punch that he realizes there's nothing there. That stops him taking another punch and stops him yelling, but it doesn't stop the way he's wobbling.

The alfalfa, for all that it is not a consensual participant in these events, is unperturbed. It sways in the breeze.

There are four suns in the sky, and six green-and-blue moons, and faraway banks of clouds between them.

Sure, sure, but what around him is about to try and kill him? That doesn't look like alfalfa that secretly hides rows of teeth or the sort of breeze that's going to suddenly whip sharp stones through the air, but you never can tell can you?

If nothing at all tries to kill him for the next ten seconds, he might relax the rigid combat stance- which here means "the weary staggering collapses to the ground in a heap." If nothing tries to kill him for the next ten minutes he's going to try and find a more comfortable patch of ground to flop on. If nothing tries to kill him for ten hours that might be a new record of some kind.

Nothing at all tries to kill him, nor objects to him flopping to the ground in a heap. A bird calls in the distance. After he's been lying there for nearly half an hour, he can hear someone singing to himself and approaching on an orthogonal trajectory. They might not see him, if they don't happen to be looking?

Sleep would feel better but he does, now that he's had some time to feel just how tired and hungry he is he realizes he doesn't know if he can eat whatever plants these are. Maybe this person isn't friendly, but they must know something about the local planet. Maybe they'll let something slip. 

So he picks himself up, wipes as much dirt as he can out off of his face with his equally filthy robe, and tries to look like someone who isn't afraid.

"Hale!" He waves with as much authority as a half-starved teenager can. "Where are you headed traveler?"

The person looks over, evidently finds something about Briseadh's appearance alarming, and replies in a foreign language.

Well that's a problem. Not impossible to solve, but a problem. 

He tries Basic of course. How about Bocce? No, that didn't seem right either. The only other language he knows is Mando'a, but revealing that isn't always the best move. On the other hand that becomes a fight at worst, and he can handle a fight better than he can handle being this confused and lost.

(That is completely wrong of course. In this state the only part of a fight he could handle would be losing, and he's never been emotionally good at losing but those emotions might be more useful than the emotion of "Tired.")

And if none of those work he'll fall back to miming eating and sleeping and see what that gets him.

None of those work but the person nods at the miming and motions him thisaway through the field.

Great. He'll follow, keeping his eyes as open as he can. He considers trying to mime "what's your name?" or "where am I?" but that sounds exhausting so how about later.

Thisaway is a farmhouse in a little village. There are a few people in the village, assorted adult ages but all oddly pretty for those ages except the guy with a burn scar on his face, and they're all singing together in six-part harmony while some of them spin and others do laundry (manually, in a little stream that runs through the village; there's a quaint footbridge across it).

Weird. 

Is the tune easy to pick up? Does his guide start singing? He's willing to sing for his supper if that's what it takes.

For the first time since failed punch after arriving, he reaches out to the force. What do they expect, is there some hostile intent? Sensing has never been easy for him - surrender is always hard - but he's so tired and maybe that helps.

The tune is not easy to pick up at all, though he can maybe catch the soprano refrain if he's musical. They are not, so far as he can discern, hostile.

He can chant. Chanting is like music, isn't it?

. . . No, it's not. He's just going to mime food again and hope they aren't offended he's not singing.

His escort from the alfalfa field, who has seamlessly joined the song, steps into one of the little houses and pops out with a bread roll to offer him.

Food.

He tears into it for the first bite, ripping a great chunk off with his teeth and only remembering to chew after he's swallowed a great lump that sticks in his throat. That makes it feel real somehow and he can slow down. He nods his thanks to his escort. 

Food and no dangers nearby. Now he needs to figure out what he needs to do to keep this situation. And that. . . that's going to take language. 

Point. "Bread." Questioning look?

His escort drops out of the song and says a Foreign Word that might, optimistically, mean "bread", or "roll", or "food".

Hrm. Point at ground. "Ground." Point at house. "House." If that works, point at himself. "Briseadh."

He can get words for all those things, or things that one might think are indicated by those pointings, and also a name for his interlocutor! "Najzei."

Nouns are good. Lets try verbs. "Walk." He takes a few steps back and forth. "Walk." Lies down on the ground and closes his eyes. "Sleep." Takes a bite of bread. "Eat."

He'll give a good pause, seeing if there's any words they'd like to offer.

Najzei is looking like he doesn't super see the point of this exercise. "Najzei, Briseadh walk?" he asks, pointing in a direction and using Briseadh's provided word for "walk".

Now there's a conundrum. How do you describe yes or no? Sure, he'll walk, following Nijzei.

Great. Najzei will take him along on a walk out of the village and onto a dirt road.

Sure. It's not like he can't find this place again if he needs to.

It's going to be about twenty minutes of walking through fields under the strange sky. Najzei hums a bit.

Briseadh walks along, sometimes pointing at plants or stones and asking for the words. Knowledge is power.