“Oh mi? Mi juz wandurin’, lat peep? Mi come here only cuz dah rivers lead mi diz way.” Korag blinked his simple, moss-green eyes in mild surprise, but he complied with the Hag’s order to sit, his posture simple and unpretentious. Ducking to enter the tent fully, he perched awkwardly upon a cushion, scratching his head as he tried to make sense of her words. As Korag settled onto the cushion, his gaze turned distant, drawn back into the recesses of his memory, the suspended candlelight casting flickering shadows across his rugged features,
“Hhm.. bud’ mi wuzn’t alwayz ash wandurur. Wen mi wuz cubbie, mi wuz born’d intu ash uruk clan deep in dah rugged muntunz. It were tuff’ plaze, but it were home..”
His eyes softened as he recalled those early years,
“Mi wuz raized amung dah clan, learnin our wayz, our tradizuns, the bub’hozhnezz ub mi people. But, zumdin inside mi pulled mi away, lyke a rivur tuggin’ at iz bankz. Mi culd nub help it. Dah call ub dah waturz, the fizhiez, just.. dah’ freedum ub it all.. it juz’ filled me heart.
Zo tyme’ agh again, mi find mizelf wandurin’, followin’ dah rivurz whereber dey led. Fizhin’ became me life agh me joy. Iz like mi can gruk dah riverz.. dem’ blah to me in dem own way.”
His brow furrowed, and a touch of sadness crept into his eyes, “Mi nub heard frum mi klan in lung lung time nuw.. Mi gruk dem moved on, or dem gone. Zumtime mi gruk bout’ headin back tu Uruk teritury, findin’ a new clan. But den mi peep at dah hurizun agh peep dah waturz callin’ me, agh mi juz’ can’t leab diz lyfe behind.. Az lung az dem is watur and fizh, mi happy wanderin’ agh sharin’ me catch with folk mi meet alung dah way.”
