She touched her mouth, stuck her tongue out at him and wiggled it. “Dumb? You can’t talk?”
No reaction. She glanced down at the cook pot—which, as far as she could tell—held the same horrible stew that it had held since she’d gotten there. There was just less of it and it got blacker every time he put the pot on the fire. “Pot,” she said, touching the hot metal lightly and then snatching her hand back. “Burn.” She blew on her fingers and then pointed at the food. “Shit.”
Nothing.
On inspiration, she gathered some of the ash at the fringe of the fire pit, spit on her finger to wet the ‘ink’ and drew on the floor.
Ok, so he might not recognize the pot she’d drawn as the one she was trying to depict. “Pot.” She pointed to the pot and then used more of the blackening to form a couple of letters of the alphabet. “Write? Can you write?”
When she glanced at him the blank stare had disappeared. In its place was a sardonic expression.
After a long moment—as if he was trying to decide how to respond—he surged to his feet, beat his chest with his fist and uttered a blood curdling, animalistic noise at the top of his lungs. Annika jumped, and then gaped at him with a mixture of horror and confusion.
His lips tightened. Turning, he stalked through the door and crossed the ‘living room’, opened the outer door and then dove out, disappearing.
Annika stared at the opening for some moments after he vanished, still blank with confusion. Finally, a thought entered her mind and took hold. Discomfort filled her, bringing a blush to her face.
Sarcasm.
She’d gotten through to him alright. Clearly, he’d understood a good bit of it and he’d decided she was being insulting.
It was a damned good thing she’d thought to try to communicate to get them past the ‘misunderstanding’!
