Çet catches him and lower him gently to the ground. "Pihoror. Piyerçawqu nat yor qyanyarana," they say, patting him on the back.

"I," he manages to gasp out between breaths. "Have no idea what you're saying."

He flops over dramatically and looks up at the rapidly lightening sky.

"Zabarhagy qu zenterhegy?" they exclaim. "Naga Çet," they say, laying a hand on their forehead. They point their open palm towards Sable. "Qu?"

"Uh."

He pauses for a moment.

"Sable Wellington," he guesses, gesturing at himself. He points his palm at the farmer. "Kate?" he repeats.

"Sabuqy Weqyington", they repeat. Their attempt at an "l" sound comes out breathy and faint.

"I know you can't understand me," Sable says. "But thank you, for helping me escape whatever those were." He hopes the tone of voice makes his gratitude clear.

Once he's caught his breath, Çet helps him to his feet, gesturing towards their farmhouse. "Qu pihor gyenit," they repeat.

The farmhouse is unfinished timber with a thatched roof. Soft red lights glow from under the eaves, although they're quickly becoming less apparent as the sky lightens.

Sable rises, glancing warily behind him at the hills. Taking a stab in the linguistic darkness he points his palm out towards the hills and asks "Qu?"

Çet wrinkles their brow and stares at him uncomprehendingly for a moment.

"O! Ga? Haşarga. Gehot gut tesirorigy."

Sable lets himself be led into the farmhouse. If he were more aware, he might notice that the abandoned cart on the path to the barn seems to lack wheels.

As it is, he welcomes the dry warmth of the farmhouse, and lets himself be pushed into a chair at a large wooden table.

"Pihoror. Nat wapuş gyanarara," they explain, gesturing for Sable to remain in the chair, and then gesturing between themselves and the door.

After looking to see that Sable does not appear to be going anywhere, Çet leaves, their footsteps fading quickly as they move away from the house.

The inside of the farmhouse, now that Sable has time to examine it, more or less resembles the outside. The walls are also unfinished wood on the inside, although he doesn't know enough about wood to guess the type.

Surprising in its absence is a fireplace -- the role of stove seems to be played by a large, rounded block of stone emitting sourceless heat. A kettle sits on top of it.

Light is provided by several long, thin tubes that hang from beams down the length of the house. Right now, they are matching the sky outside and slowly brightening, tiny carvings on their surfaces flickering as they do.

Sable has had a long night. While he would normally be all over mysterious glowing tubes, right now the only thing he can bring himself to do is sleep.

"... norhe homdarna," Çet whispers, quietly opening the door and leading their companion in.

:But he came over the moor, you say? What about the Haşar?: Çet's companion asks, ducking slightly to step through the door. She wears polished chainmail over leather armor that's seen better centuries. A sword rests at her hip.

Sable jerks awake. He's not a light sleeper, but being face-down on a wooden table is not the most restful.

"What?" he says. He blinks warily, trying to place his surroundings.

"O! Nya homdarta," Çet points out, smiling at him.

"E Zeterse, Sabuqy Weqyington. E Sabuqy Weqyington, Zeterse."

:Hello!: Zeterse says. The words reach him via some channel that isn't his ears, appearing fully formed in his mind like a message in a bottle. :I'm Zeterse, one of the guards in Haşarur. Çet was telling me you came over the hills. Do you know where you are?:

"No, I have no idea."

:Unfortunately, my linguistic talents only go one-way,: Zeterse explains apologetically. :Can you shake your hand yes or no?:

Sable looks at her blankly, at a loss for what to say. He settles for holding his hand up and making a vaguely apologetic shrug and a bewildered expression.

:Oh! I'm sorry. Move your hand up and down, as though you were petting something for yes, and ball it into a fist for no,: Zeterse explains, demonstrating the indicated actions. :Flap yes if you understand:

Sable flaps his hand, feeling faintly ridiculous.

:So not only do you not speak Zabarhagy, you can't be from anywhere in the southern reaches. Do you know how you got here?: she asks.

"No," Sable says, balling his hand. He may as well start trying to teach them a few of his words, since there's not much else he can do unless they explain.