After the skirmish, the convoy was in complete disarray. The surviving Paratu People were gasping for breath, slumped on the ground in all directions, their spirits and energy completely drained by the fierce battle they had just endured.
Some militiamen were holding the bodies of the fallen, weeping bitterly. These were their relatives and friends.
"Who speaks Herders' language?" Pierre, carrying a musket, walked among the wagons. "Is there anyone who speaks Herders' language?"
He was met only with head shakes or outright silence.
"Herders' language? No one understands it?" Pierre asked again when he saw a surviving Paratu Person.
"I do." A lean figure climbed down from a wagon. "What's it about?"
"You speak Herders' language, Hunter?"
Bell had taken a blow to the head and his consciousness was still somewhat fuzzy. "A bit. Before my mother passed, our whole family lived in the Bitterwater Tribe."
