A rainbow flicker amidst the trees, and Berd floats into the clearing, his eyes dark and subdued.  Cyan stands motionless as he lands upon her shoulder, then nods to both Harbonah and Left.  That both of them agree without equivocation or even thought of an argument?

The one thing that unites Archons is a greater threat, she recalls, remembering Dorian.

"I agree with your counsel.  Let us away from this place, with haste."  A wave of her hand indicates Malkia should commence, and Cyan shoulders her pack, moving to the side.  Berd loops up from her shoulder now, hovering in preparation for the World Walking.

"Onward," Cyan whispers, with a swift glance at James.

James scrambles onto Malkia's back, and the lioness springs into motion, even as Left drops down to snap up Cyan with practised ease.  Massive paws devour the distance, stride after stride...

James leans low, feeling that Malkia is moving faster this time, urgency driving her onward.  And a swarm of Archons, both real and Banglen-Yps imitating Archons, orbit around them, easily keeping pace.

Down from the wooded hills, and across a wide valley, avoiding the brightly lit city where Constance hunts, before bringing her prey back to the place where she feeds.  Something huge flies overhead, like a metallic bird, studded with blinking lights and roaring like a great storm.

Out of the valley, and into the next, where the leaves of the trees have already fallen, leaving naked branches clawing at a sky filled with scudding grey clouds, which have the look of imminent snowfall.

Another valley.  And another.  And another...

More forest, and a broad river.  In the distance a city broods, low buildings sprawling across the land, stretching for miles.  Malkia ignores it, pushing herself faster and faster.

"I believe" she replies to a shouted query from James, "that we are long-since out of Constance's territory.  But I would arrive at Amber sooner, rather than later, Jim.  Ahah!  This will do!" and she springs sideways, twisting in mid-air, and passing into the black, lightning split trunk of a massive tree.  The Archons follow, close on her tail...

And emerge from another, similar tree, into a night-time forest, silent and still beneath a white blanket.  Malkia keeps going, slowed a little by the deep snow.  Wolves can be heard howling in the distance, and a light glows ahead... and then they are past it, a metal post with a glass cage on the top and a flame within it.

The lioness breath is hoarse in the cold air, and condenses in clouds of thick moisture, but still she doesn't stop.

On and on, and the dawn comes up as they leave the forest, and start out upon an open plain, where there is less snow.

Finally she scrambles up a hill, and locates a cave near the top.  "I must rest, at least for a short while.  We should be safe here."

James slides down and pats her shoulder.  "Thank you."  He turns to watch, as the Archons come in from the open air, and notices the paintings on the walls.  Primitive images of men, hunting animals...

Left drops, and Cyan is there, starting from the feet and materializing as if woven together by the spinning blades.  Finally Left passes over her head, and she steps away with a bow to the danioti.  "My thanks, Left."

Curious, the bard glances out the cave entry first, then moves to the wall.  Her fingers pass just in front of the rock, not quite touching the paintings.  Behind her, Berd blinks from a small outcropping, and a tiny, brilliant faerie bursts into appearance beside his daughter's head, holding a burning globe in her hand.  The light wavers, then steadies, Cyan's eyes throwing it back like glittering rubies.

"Who might these have been?" she whispers.  "And how long ago since their painter left?"  One thin eyebrow rises.  "And, if recently, will he or she return?"

Slowly the bard examines the artwork, taking her time to drink in the details.

Across a broad expanse of the cave wall, figures which probably represent humans, or something similar - two arms, two legs, a head are depicted - along with others which look like deer, horses, bison... even some that look like oliphants, limned in faded red.  The animals are shown in more detail - better proportioned than the people, and with some attempt to represent their markings as lines and stripes and blotches of colour.  The humans, if that is what they are, hunt the animals with spears, or with what look like representations of axes and knives.

In the centre of the wall, surrounded by all of the others, a single figure stands, much larger than any of the others.  Humanoid, but with antlers or branches on its head, and bearing two spears.  It is surrounded by a thick black ring, and has a splash of red and yellow next to it, that might represent a fire.  Still this person is not shown in as much detail as the animals.

While Cyan examines the paintings, and Malkia finds a spot to lay down for a while, James explores the cave, moving further back and through a narrow opening.  He returns a few moments later, holding a few pieces of a shattered, crude bowl, which he holds out for Cyan to see.

The pieces are stained with the same colours as were used in the paintings.  Haphazard splotches of colour, long since dried and slightly faded.  "I think the painter left, long ago.  This was partly concealed under a thick layer of dust through there.  There are animal bones too, old ones, picked clean and with the marrow gone.  And a circle of fire blackened stones."

"This was there too."

A piece of flint, one end worked into a crude edge, the other rounded, as if to sit comfortably in a hand which is a little smaller than Cyan's own.

James stifles a yawn, then smiles at Cyan.  "I think I'm going to take a leaf from Malkia's book and have a rest." he says, "This place seems safe enough, and we can set the Archons to stand watch.  They don't seem to need sleep."

"You should get some rest yourself, unless you did that while Left carried you."

He rests a hand on the bard's shoulder for a moment, "I think the encounter with Constance was tiring for all of us.  At least for those that can get tired."  A gesture towards the back end of the chamber, "I'll just be over there if you need anything."

"Thank you, James," Cyan whispers, taking the shard.  Antiquity, here in her hand.  She turns it over, studying it, then glances up to James as he touches her shoulder.  "A fine plan, James.  I would like to study this a touch futher - see the art, feel the truth of the people who lived here - but I shall join you in slumber shortly."

The exhaustion is deep within her bones, now.

Even so, the pictures on the wall call her.  She runs her fingers over the horned man, addressing the archons.  "Have any of you ever met one such as this?  A horned man?  You have much experience in the Myriad Worlds.  Perhaps..."  She runs fingers down the cracked edge of the ochre shaded pottery.

She picks up the small 'blade', noting how it fits in her palm.  "Skinning tool, perhaps," the bard whispers.  "In ten thousand years, these people might have cities reaching toward the sky, have ships that sail between the stars, and perhaps have discovered the Myriad Worlds themselves."

She will be gone by then, long gone, but James, the Archons, and others will remain.

James strips off his armour and lays down on the floor to sleep.

The Archons, or so they say, have never seen a horned man.  Some, including Harbonah seem interested in the art, at least to some extent, but gradually drift away to their guard duties.

Berd settles down on the packs, and his eyes burn in the gloom for a little while, before closing and leaving Cyan alone with the paintings and the tiny glowing sprite.

The detail in the animal paintings is exquisite, given the doubtless very basic nature of the artist's tools and materials.  Some of them look as if they would come to life at any moment and leap across the wall of the cave.

A horse rears, suddenly.  A trick of the flickering firelight perhaps.  But there is no fire, only the sprite.  Except that the sprite is gone, and the light has a definite "fire" quality.

Cyan turns, and she is alone in the cave.  James and Malkia and Berd are all gone.  And there is a fire which she doesn't recall being lit...

And then she's not alone, as a figure shuffles out of the inner chamber.  The horned man.  He is short, perhaps five feet tall, and bearded, and he wears a loin cloth made of some kind of animal skin.  As he moves out into the firelight it becomes clear that he wears a hood, of sorts, made from head of a deer, with the antlers still attached.  His torso is daubed with paint - hand prints in all the colours used on the walls, and he carries two spears, simple sharpened sticks with fire-hardened points.

He stops as he spots Cyan, brandishing the spears at her, not threatening to use them, more like simply showing that he has them.  He tilts his head to one side, and speaks.  Or, at least, he makes a series of noises which have the cadence of speech.  Grunts and clicks forming a pattern that might be words.

Then silence for a moment, before he raps his knuckles against his breast bone and makes a set of sounds, then repeats both it and the gesture.  "[click]-ogok.  [click]-ogok."  A quick nod to Cyan, then he extends his empty hand towards her, palm upward.

From the corner of her eye, Cyan sees one of the painted deer stepping down from the cave wall.

"Spirits of the West," Cyan whispers as the figure steps out.  From where?  The shadows?  Another world?  The past?  She cannot say.

Alone but unafraid, she slowly stands.  The world has changed, but this Cyan understands.  Be it spirit voyage, mystic vision, or actual travel through the worlds, it holds no danger, she suspects.  Neither does the spear-armed man.

She bows, though she keeps her gaze upon him.

There is a power in his creations, in his markings, in his clothing and spears.  Crude, old, unrefined, but the stronger for that.  Sometimes the eldest ways are the closest to the root - detail and complexity adds, but also costs.

"I greet you," she replies, holding out her own, empty hands.  Fangmir hangs at her waist, unheeded for the moment.  Her hand presses a palm toward him.  "[click]-ogok," Cyan repeats, near perfectly, her bard's skill with language and mimicry serving her well.  Her knuckles rap the bone between her breasts, and she speaks again.  "Cyan."  Another rap.  "Cyan."  The bard bows once more, then steps forward to extend her hand as does her host, palm upward.

Her gaze strays to the deer, stepping away from its wall.  "Spirits," Cyan whispers again.  "How glorious..."

Is this his work, the living portrait?  If so, it is to her palanqueti what they are to mere paintings.

"Chy-an." the creature nods, and bobs his head, before studying Cyan's empty hand and comparing it to his own, which is stained with dirt and pigments, and covered with short fur.  "Nga [click]-[click] adcho nongodo Chy-an aku [click]-ogok."  He raises his hands, both now empty, the spears having vanished with no fuss or ceremony, and presses his pals together, fingers interlocked.  "Nongodo."

Then his not quite human face grows thoughtful for a moment, before seeming to light up with inspiration.  He moves across to the wall, with its paintings, and uses a fingertip to describe a circle around a group of men engaged in a hunt together.  "Nongodo."  Then he points at a lone man, "Gonchok." and back to the group, "Nongodo."

A rabbit, rendered in black and white and only an inch long, springs from the wall, and runs up his outstretched arm to escape the stick figure who pursues it.  It crouches on his shoulder and starts to wash.

Clasping his hands together again, [click]-ogok says "Nongodo." once more.  "Nongodo Chy-an aku [click]-ogok."

Cyan blinks as the information begins its flow.  Her thin brows furrow before leaping high as the rabbit smoothly leaps from its stony home.  All the while her mind struggles to follow.

"Nongodo," she whispers.

One hand runs fingers through her red hair, then Cyan purses her lips.  Moving to the wall, she draws the same circle around the men.  "Nongodo."  A finger points at the single man.  "Gonchok."

Smoothly, she moves to the fire.  Her hand motions to places around the dead fire, two fingers clawed downward like bent legs, angle of her hand shifting as if to suggest many people sitting, knees bent, all facing inward at the fire.  A group, seated around the flames.  She passes her palm all around the circle, encompassing all of it.  Sits down, mimes putting arms over the people next to her.

"Nongodo."

Then she points toward the door, walking there.  Stands firmly alone.  "Gonchok."

Then her palm points toward her host.  "[click]-ogok.  Cyan."  She moves to stand before him, bowing slightly.  "Nongodo?"

Nodding, [click]-ogok speaks animatedly for several moments, before shaking his head and falling silent.  Then he starts again, but more slowly.

"Chy-an agho."  He beckons, and walks towards the fire.  "Chy-an nok." pointing to the ground, then a gesture with both hands spread, and making a downward pushing motion.  "Chy-an nok."  Again the downward pushing, then he stoops to pat the ground, before moving a little to one side and sitting.  "[click]-ogok aku nok."

Then he points to the spot that he had patted, "Nok.  Chy-an nok."

And through it all, the rabbit sits on his shoulder, grooming itself.

It seems he wants her to sit.  She isn't certain, but that much Cyan may have grasped.  "Yes."  Keeping her utterances short and on point, the bard slowly moves to the fire, seating herself exactly where [click]-ogok has indicated.

"Sit."  With a nod, she crosses her legs.  "Cyan sit.  [click]-ogok sit."  Baby talk, though he's anything but a baby.  More an exchange, in this case.  The bard studies the rabbit, a small smile stealing onto her lips, her ruby eyes dancing in the flickering light.

The rabbit tilts its head to one side as Cyan speaks and sits close to the fire.  It's nose twitches briefly, and then it ignores her as it returns to its grooming.

Her host, meanwhile, pulls a branch from the fire and extinguishes the flames by laying it on the ground and piling sand on it.  Then he holds the branch out towards Cyan, "Notko[click]."  Not offering it, just showing it, as he had with the spears.

The burned end of the branch functions as effective charcoal, which he crumbles between his fingers, and uses to draw on a nearby boulder.

A horned man inside a circle, "[click]-ogok."  A second figure, off to one side, some distance from the first, "Chy-an."  Below that one a set of rough triangular shapes, apex upward.  "Tsochak."  And between the triangles and the horned figure, a pair of parallel, curving, serpentine lines.  "Dacht."  The unmistakable representation of a fish is sketched between the lines, and promptly starts swimming.

A finger stretches out to touch the figure which apparently represents Cyan.

"Chy-an agho tsochak?"  He moves his hand across the the images, two fingers pantomiming a walking motion, from the triangles, past the fish, to the horned man.  "Chy-an agho tsochak, agho doka dacht, agho [click]-ogok?"

Circle.  The cave.  Her host within it.

Mountains.  River.  The fish...spirits of the west, the fish.  How does he do this?

Did she come here through that way?

"No."  Leaning back, Cyan frowns, shakes her head, waves her palm back and forth toward the picture.  "Not like that."  How can she...without her pack...

She has her palanqueti.

Leaning forward, Cyan snags a branch of her own.  Sand.  Time to cool.  Then she crumbles the charcoal and moves to the rock.

The horned man, in a circle.  "[click]-ogok," she murmurs, drawing to match his style.  She draws the river with the fish - hers does not live, sadly - but further away.  "Dacht."  River?  Ocean?  She's not sure which.  Doesn't matter.  Then Cyan draws herself...on another boulder, further away.  "Cyan."

She glances over her shoulder to him.  Nods.

Then Cyan draws a thin oval next to 'herself' on the boulder.  With fingers, she mimicks his 'walking' action, to the oval.  "Walk," she whispers.  With a brush of her hand she erases herself.  Moves to the other boulder on which she draws, inscribes a thin oval close to the 'cave' with [click]-ogok.  Fingers 'walk' from the oval.  "Walk."  Another whisper.

Then Cyan draws herself where her fingers end their walk, next to the cave.

"Cyan walk.  Across the worlds."

Stained fingers fumble at her belt, withdraw the palanqueti.  Fanning them, she shows them to her host, then plucks out the palanquet of her home, the small cabin in the Outerlands.  A moment's concentration, and its image swims before their eyes, gaining reality.  A bird flickers across the card's face, and Cyan makes her fingers walk to the card.  "Cyan walk.  Across the worlds."

Cyan's explanation brings a puzzled expression, followed by a dawning realisation.  Her host raises a hand to point straight up, "Chy-an agho bokt!".

He moves to draw a long curved line which forms a cap above the images already drawn.  Then a bird shape, possibly a duck, above the others, but below the curve.  [click]-ogok taps the curve with a finger.  "Bokt.  Chy-an agho bokt."  A smile and banging of an open palm against the ground.  "Chy-an agho bokt."  The bird flies upward, escaping the boulder...

Then the palanquet comes to life, and the primitive falls silent, an expression of rapt attention on his face.  When he speaks again, he points first to Cyan, and then to himself, "Chy-an aku [click]-ogok aku."  Using the un-charred end of the branch, he first makes sure Cyan is watching, then taps at his chest before starting to scrape marks in the dust.  "[click]-ogok togh."

A gesture towards the painted wall, before a sweep of the hand erases the fresh marks in the dust.  Then he makes more, as he repeats, "[click]-ogok togh.  Chy-an aku togh."

He holds out his empty hand, palm up, towards the palanquet.  "[click]-ogok nojk?"

"Flies," Cyan whispers, watching the bird escape its stony confines.  "Not quite, no.  But in a way."  She waves toward the bird.  "Bokt.  No.  I walk."  Again the miming of walking.  "I walk between worlds."

Then the palanquet.

"We."  She points at both of them.  "Cyan.  [click]-ogok.  We.  We aku.  We togh."  Artists?  Shamen?  To paint?  To do magic?  She doesn't know.  But it's probably something along those lines.

"Yes.  I will let you see."  This is the careful part.  She can't have him just vanishing from this world with the card, never to be seen again, probably to die in her own, unfamiliar world.  But it's not my world, an errant thought comes.  I don't have one.

The bard reaches out with her card.  "Careful."  She makes slow, cautioning gestures with it, while allowing its forces to quiet.  Shuffling slightly, she puts herself more easily within reach.  "Careful."  Again, the cautioning gestures.  Then she holds the card out.

But she does not release it if he touches it, instead maintaining both her hold on it and her control over the power it summons.

He leans forward, examining the card.  Sniffs at it, then pinches it between thumb and forefinger before looking at the digits, pressing them together.  "Adcho ajod." he murmurs, smiling in wonder.

The palanquet shimmers, and trees sway in a gust of wind which does not blow in the cave, and [click]-ogok laughs, slapping his hands against the ground, but he makes no attempt to take the card.

"Chy-an agho?" and a gesture towards the palanquet.  "Chy-an naka-[click]."  The walking motion with his fingers.  "Chy-an deku."  And a wave of the hand to encompass the whole cave.

"Chy-an nok aku [click]-ogok."

The deer steps closer to the fire, and daintily lays down just out of Cyan's reach.  It doesn't look at her, but one ear, stylised and painted in red, black and yellow, turns in her direction.

The rabbit stops washing itself, and watches Cyan instead.

More words, some she has heard before, some she hasn't.  Cyan squints her ruby eyes, concentrating.  She's not quite getting his point - possibly he's talking about her making the palanquet, possibly about walking here, or using it to walk here?  Or coming to see him?

Hard to tell with such a limited vocabulary.

Sometimes, it's easier to show than tell.  Cyan waves a hand to get his attention, then freezes as the animals show interest in her.  She carefully holds out her fingers toward the deer - no threat, no attempt to touch - then pulls them back and eyes the rabbit for a moment.

Then, reaching out, she grasps her pack.

Drawing it to herself - carefully, carefully - she opens it up and withdraws her book of blank paper, followed by her pens.  Pulling out a black pen - its reservoir already filled with ink - she shows it to [click]-ogok.  "Cyan...agho?"  A finger points toward the palanquet.  "With this?"  Is that it?

And she opens the book and uncaps the pen.

"Cyan draws palanequeti, [click]-ogok," she whispers as her pen dances over the page.  "Cyan draws palanqueti."  A sweep defines a skull's outline, then a quick series of lines shows the edges of a face.  It has a magic of its own, this work - no beasts step forth, no creation occurs, but something comes to life on the page, lines and scribbles coming together to form a visage.

[click]-ogok.

"[click]-ogok."  She points at the picture, not even close to completed but definitely a man.  The pen begins again.  "Palanqueti," she singsongs, then breaks into the language of her oldest friends - the Heavy Handed and Cúthalion, dead years past for her, milennia for them.  "Av-'osto, êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn...."  A sigh follows - she has spoken this language only once in years, and misses it dearly.  "Do you sing, [click]-ogok, I wonder."

Will he believe the picture cursed, she wonders?  Doubtful.  A man who brings art to life should not believe a spirit imprisoned by a drawing.

The deer doesn't flinch.  It watches Cyan's hand with one eye, and the ear flicks in that direction, briefly.  The rabbit seems to relax, and lays down on its creator's shoulder.  And [click]-ogok nods, "Chy-an agho." and he too points to the palanquet.  "Chy-an naka-[click]."  Again the walking movement with his fingers, and then he points to the palanquet once more, "Chy-an agho deku." and finally he taps his hand on the floor.

Something wanders past on the edge of the firelight.  Large, and rendered in red and black, with a long nose and a pair of curved tusks.  It moves silently, for all its lumbering gait and great size.

[click]-ogok ignores it as he watches Cyan open her pack.  The pen interests him.  Then the bard starts to sketch, and he picks up the burned stick in his left hand, and uses the right to point to the stick, then to the pen.  "Aku." he declares, then "Aku [click]-ogok aku Chy-an."

Then he falls silent and watches as his own image starts to take shape on the paper.

Deku.  Here?  Arrived?  Agho Deku.  Agho.  What is Agho?  The sky?  The world?  Or is that 'to come', and Deku is the place, with Bokt the sky?

Naka-[click].  Walked?  Travelled?

Aku.  Artist?  To draw?

As yet, he does not feel the drawing to be a threat.  Good.  Cyan wonders how he will react.

The drawing continues to take form.  Bright eyes, laugh-lines.  All in intricate detail, thanks to the pen and her skill.  "Aku," she whispers, drawing.  She's relatively sure about that one.  A wave to the charcoal and the wall.  "[click]-ogok aku.  Cyan aku."  Yes.  A nod of the head for agreement.  With a small smile, she includes the rabbit on his shoulder, a head and paws, the body 'fading' into the page.  Descriptor - something to personalize the sketch, make it more real in her mind.

"Bokt?"  She takes a moment to point straight up.  Then to the birds, and she joins her hands at the thumbs to mimick flapping before pointing up again.  "Bokt?"

Back to the sketch.  Everything is coming together now, down to the markings on the skin of his upper chest.

"Juchak!" [click]-ogok says, as the rabbit appears, and he grins as he slaps his hands on the ground.  On his shoulder, his own rabbit sketch sits up, puzzled by the sudden disturbance.  Then a finger points to Cyan's version of the rabbit, then to the one on the man's shoulder.

"Juchak aku aku juchak." and an urgent nod.  "Aku [click]-ogok aku Chy-an."

"Bokt" brings another nod and a smile.  He finds space on the boulder and starts to draw again.  A roughly-horizontal almost-straight line.  "Denok."  Two people appear, standing on the line.  "[click]-ogok aku Chy-an."  Then something that looks like a tree.  "Guchod."  And finally a curve which forms a shallow arc above all of them.  "Bokt."

Then, as an afterthought, a circle appears, bisected by the arc, and with lines radiating from it.  "Dahach."

And all the while, Cyan's sketch moves closer to completion.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:57, Wed 20 Aug 2014.

Rabbit, now.  Some vocabulary is forming.  She watches as he outlines the ground, the sky, the trees.  "Ground.  Cyan, [click]-ogok.  Tree."  A smile appears on her sharp features as he completes the vista.  "Sun."

Amethyst eyes return to her sketch, ensuring no errors transpire.

She keeps the background simple - a cave wall with some of his sketches, including the deer and the bird.  A suggestion of firelight.  Her pen fairly dances across the paper now; she's in her own element, something she hasn't done for so long, and Cyan finds herself falling into the sensation.  Fine details continue to take shape.

She wonders if he knows of the Archons.  Or the war.  Doubtful, but people have surprised her before, and Cyan is experienced enough to know that 'primative' doesn't necessarily mean 'ignorant', even of the Myriad Worlds.  No, not at all.

There's power in simplicity, and oftentimes the most discerning eye.

Aku...there's something more to that word than just art, she suspects.

Cyan keeps sketching, and as she does so the image of [click]-ogok seems to move.  An actual movement?  Or a trick of the light?  The page doesn't feel cold, so likely just the dancing of the flames...

The man leans a little closer to study the image, and laughs.  Then he suddenly pushes himself upright, and Juchak leaps from his shoulder to the ground.  [click]-ogok hurries through the narrow opening into the other chamber.  Juchak moves across and presses up against Cyan's leg, where he appears to settle down for a rest.

[click]-ogok returns a moment later with an untanned hide bag and a dark leather bowl.  Seating himself, he pours some water from the bag into the bowl, then ignores it.

"Juchak nongodo Chy-an." he says, smiling.  Then, he looks at the bowl of water, leaning over it to peer into it, before looking at the sketch, and back to his reflection.

He nods, pointing at the bowl and the sketchbook.  "Aku aku."

And Cyan feels the page grow cold beneath her hand...

"I want to do you credit," Cyan whispers, still working on the sketch, pleased at his laughter.  For a moment her hand drops and she runs a finger over Juchak's ears, then the bard returns to the sketch.  The icy feeling begins beneath her fingers, but still she continues - it's important to capture enough that she can finish the sketch later.  And she will.  This is one she does not wish to lose.

"Just like the reflection," she murmurs.  "Only not."

Good enough.

"[click]-ogok," the bard murmurs, gesturing to the page.  "And now...we shall see if this works."

With effort, she focuses upon the sketch.  Cyan doubts she will be capable of actively speaking to him - he thinks in his tongue, after all.  But it's possible that conceptual communication can occur, allowing faster transference of knowledge and learning of his language.  If he speaks and she gains any kind of empathy or imagery, she'll have a better idea of his point.

And...she wants this.  A page of her history, such as it is, now graven into an image.  An image that might allow more complete communication.

Again the small man laughs and points to the sketch, "[click]-ogok adcho deku!" and Cyan hears the words, but her mind tells her their meaning - [click]-ogok is here.

"Chy-an aku [click]-ogok aku.  Aku aku toch." - Cyan and [click]-ogok same.  Same same make picture.

And then he stops, peering at the sketch, and taps a finger against the side of his head, "Yai!  [click]-ogok nojk Chy-an... deku.  Adcho djok."  Aah!  [click]-ogok sees Cyan... here.  It's good.