Iweža gently stroked the foţellu's wooly head, careful to avoid the welts. It should have been bleating with hunger, but it was a struggle to get it to take the bottle of mush she had packed for it. But once it had finally eaten, it didn't vomit and it drank some water too. She carefully set the foţellu down in his little nest of blankets. Then she climbed out the wagon and went to the front to check on her glabak. "Hey boy, how you doing? I know it's a long journey," she cooed softly as she fed him some morsels of grain and a bit of dried fruit. "we gotta go a bit farther okay. Just trust me." she checked on the sick animal in the back one more time, then got back into her seat and started pushing the glabak forward once more. A storm the next evening kept her from traveling and so they were hunkered down in the wagon. the glabak couldn't fit so she had untied him to go find shelter.Something white and greenish oozed from the foţellu's skin and it's tongue had spots. She hugged it close, knowing that now might be the moment she had to kill it. Her hopes of finding a doctor had been the foolish wishes of a child. If her village and none of the neigbors could figure out what was wrong, why on earth would some city-slacker colonists know what was wrong? Because, she reminded herself with a sudden return of her determination, they probably have expensive medicine they keep away from us. But I'll convince someone. They know they depend on us and our flocks so I'll get them to give us medicine. She whistled for the glabak and despite the rain and the mud they pushed forward, even when she had to dig the wagon our of the mud many times, it was still better than sitting and waiting. It was absolutely pouring by the time she got to the city gate and she raised the knocker, cold and slick with rain and pounded on the door. She licked her lips with nervousness. How was it they said doctor? ah, Mesłi, right? "Mesłi! Mesłi!" she called. There was a round of laughter and the gate opened. "Donpa m-mesłi," she stammered and they roared with laughter again. the guards talked to eachother, repeating the word Mesłi a few times. "Little girl," one man said in a heavily accented voice. "Your dolly is not here, I'm afraid." Her face burned with embarassment and anger. "Glol-gl--ggg-" agh why were there so many difficult sounds in Pakul? She couldn't stand their laughter. "Speak Dzvitsun, we know it quite well." No you don't. You're horrible at it. every part of you makes you horrible at speaking Dzvitsun. Your accent is awful and you probably wouldn't understand me if I spoke some of the most common sayings or spoke rapidly like I really need to. But okay. Sure we should speak Dzvitsun because we were here first. So she began rattling off. She told the guards about the disease that was spreading to the flocks and how even those kept in isolation were still getting it. And she reminded them of how much money their wool brought in for the empire. The guards made her repeat herself a few times and she was only too happy to put just an edge of "teacher has to deal with dumb students" into her voice. But once again, because they were so bad at the language and the small things that weren't just grammar and vocabulary, they didn't seem to catch on at all. But they called over a young man who gestured for her to follow. She tighened her headscarf nervously and tighted the scarf tying the foţellu to her and she followed. The city was huge and there were more people than seemed possible. This was like an anthill in disguise. The boy offered her his hand but she shook her head. He asked her something that she couldn't understand so she asked him to repeat it. She tried to remember her lessons. Hopefully she wouldn't embarrass herself like she had earlier. She was pretty sure he was asking what it was like living in the middle of nowhere. "Vinga, Tuma," she said curtly. Smaller. Better. He tried to talk with her more but she shook her head. "I don't understand," she told him in Pakul. "I just need the doctor."
