The problem was, I couldn’t understand a word of it.

Ah shit. Of freaking COURSE they wouldn't speak English! This isn't just another country, it's another plane of existence! Crap. What do I do now?

As I berated myself for the lack of common sense, the stranger--a man, I could now tell by his voice--repeated himself. While I recognized plenty of hard “T” and “K” sounds, the words may as well have been gibberish to me.

Pointing to my ear and shaking my head left to right, I did my best to communicate that I did not understand the man while communicating the same thing out loud.

"I'm sorry sir, I can't understand what you're saying. It looks like we don't speak the same language," I finished, taking a step toward him.

The man immediately dropped into a defensive stance and shouted something that obviously meant "Don't move!", so I stepped right back and raised my arms higher, with no clue how to end the cross-lingual stalemate.

Thankfully, it seemed that he had come to the same conclusion about the language barrier, and began gesturing around to his right, with the knife.

If I want to get along with him, I have to be as meek as possible for the time being. He speaks the language, has the weapon, the camp, and the food–all of the power, in other words. I hope I get to put my arms down soon though. The water and sleeping bag aren't that heavy, but holding anything over your head for an extended period is tough!

Keeping my arms nice and high, I began to walk in the direction he had indicated until he held up his unarmed hand to stop me directly opposite the fire from himself and the tent.

With the fire now between us, I could see his face. He looked older than I was, but not by much–though it was difficult to tell around the full beard. It was tinted by the orange firelight but probably brown, with no gray that I could see. Our eyes were at about the same level, as far as I could tell from twenty feet away with only flickering firelight for illumination. One thing I could be sure of, even in the dark, was that he was bigger around than me. Some of that volume came from the number of furs he was wearing, but there was no doubt he had at least thirty pounds over my one hundred seventy.

He beckoned me toward him with the knife, so I complied, coming to a stop next to the fire when he raised his other hand again. Pointing his knife up at my hands, holding the water jug and sleeping bag drawstring, he then pointed down to the ground. I gratefully dropped the two next to me and shook out my hands.

He began to study me, placing hands on his hips, and keeping the knife in his right hand. I studied him right back.

This close, I could see freckles and wrinkles above the beard. He obviously spent a lot of time working outside; he was probably a hunter or trapper, out here. His eyes were a light color, but I couldn't tell exactly whether they were blue or green without a stronger source of light. There were wrinkles around those eyes, definitely at least from squinting, if not also smiling.

I'd never seen an outfit like his in person--it looked instead like something you'd see in a movie about pioneers and the old West.

Well, how different is this situation from the pre-industrial West? If I'd had food stored in the shed, I probably would have stuck around it and started trapping and hunting myself, then wearing the skins.

Finished with his appraisal, the stranger pointed the knife at my tool belt, then at the ground, just like with the water and sleeping bag. I nodded and put my hands up at shoulder height to turn around and show him that I was unbuckling the belt from behind. I don't want him to think I'm reaching for a weapon.

After the belt was unhooked, I turned to face him again, then bent to set the belt on the ground. He then dropped his knife into its sheath on his belt and smiled at me, likely comforted that I was unarmed now. Which I honestly was, with both the machete and the gnoll's knife attached to the tool belt.

The stranger then placed his hand on his chest, and spoke what I assumed was his name.

Dammit, I wasn't paying attention and didn't really hear what he said. I think this is definitely a situation where I'm alright asking someone to repeat themselves!

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I made what I hoped was a puzzled expression at him, and raised my hand to my ear, leaning forward. It seemed that he understood that I had not understood, because he tapped his chest and repeated three syllables:”Yo-jo-ti".

"Yojoti?" I parroted, trying to mimic his pronunciation.

He smiled, clapped his hands, and nodded. He then gestured toward me with his own look of questioning. I placed my hand on my chest and spoke my own name, "Trevor"

"Trebor?" came Yojoti's attempt at my name.

Shaking my head, I repeated my name more slowly, emphasizing pressing my bottom lip against my upper teeth. "Tre-vvvvvor"

"Trevor?", he tried again. I repeated his "affirmative" actions by smiling, clapping, and nodding.

Yojoti appeared terribly pleased with himself, and I couldn't stop smiling either. He extended his right hand toward me, in what appeared to be a request for a handshake. I extended my own and stepped toward him a little cautiously. He took his own step, and then our hands were clasped in greeting.

Yojoti beamed further and used his left hand to clap my right shoulder while repeating "Trevor!" I responded with my own "Yojoti!", and we repeated the process once more before breaking our grip.

As Yojoti stepped back, he gestured toward the fire and took a seat on the ground himself. I gratefully obliged, groaning down in relief to be off my feet.

Alright, I've been accepted as NOT an enemy. Sweet. Man, it's nice to not be afraid for my life now. It's gonna be really tough to communicate, but it seems Yojoti is really amiable, so we'll probably figure things out over time. That is, assuming we'll be spending more than just tonight together. He's probably got other things going on that he needs to do and might not have time to teach a foreigner how to survive and speak his language while he does it. Well, I'll worry more about that tomorrow. For now, let's see if I can beg some food and a place to sleep for the night.

It turned out that I didn't even need to ask for food, as Yojoti pretty immediately leaned back to reach into his tent and drag out a ruck sack, then fish out a piece of bread and jerky.

He held the bread up and said a word, which I repeated. He repeated it more slowly, and I adjusted my pronunciation. Once I got the pronunciation correct, he plopped it into my hand repeating the word for "bread". We repeated the same process with the jerky, though I would have to clarify later whether the word was for "jerky", or "meat", or maybe for whatever specific kind of meat the jerky was made from. Once they were both in my hands, he brought his own to his mouth and mimed taking a bite, then said a word I assumed was "eat", which I repeated as well. He nodded and repeated the motion, so I took it as an invitation to go ahead and eat.

Both were pretty hard, as preserved foods tend to be, but tasted fine and more importantly, put something into my stomach. After a couple of bites, I reached around for my water jug and chugged some to wash the hardtack down. After removing the rim from my lips, I sighed and paused before finishing off the life-sustaining gifts.

I glanced over at Yojoti, who gestured toward the water jug and spoke a word, raising his eyebrows.

I'm not sure whether he's asking about the jug itself, or the water inside. Let's see if we can find out.

I held up the jug, tapped the outside, and said "jug". Yojoti reached into the pack to pull out what looked like a canteen and said his word for the container, which I repeated. He then removed the cap and pointed his finger inside the canteen, and said a different word.

Ah, that must be the word for "water". I repeated the word, raising my eyebrows and pointing inside my own jug, and Yojoti nodded.

I've never managed to really learn a language before. I had some success learning Spanish, but not anywhere near fluency. But I guess not having any option for speaking English will be a big catalyst for getting this sooner rather than later.

Capping and setting the jug down, I held a questioning hand toward Yojoti and said the word for "bread", trying to communicate that I was still hungry. He nodded and grabbed out another roll for me.

After washing down the second roll, I was hit by a wave of fatigue. I guess the stress, sun, hard work, and travel have finally gotten to me, being with another person in an environment where adrenaline wasn’t necessary. I really need some sleep.

Turning to Yojoti, I placed my palms together, then laid my cheek against them and closed my eyes for a moment, saying "sleep".

Yojoti responded with a nod and a word, which I repeated. He began to look into his pack, but I waved a hand and shook my head at him, reaching for my sleeping bag, still rolled up. I undid the straps and rolled it out next to the fire, and Yojoti's eyebrows rose with a nod of understanding. He turned around to crawl into his small a-frame tent, then poked his head out to speak a last word, which I took to mean "good night". I repeated it back to him, and zipped myself into my own sleeping bag.

I don't have a pillow, but I'm so tired that I don't care. I survived a day in a fantasy wilderness, and tomorrow probably won't be much easier. I'll figure things out more once I have some rest, in the light of day.

In case the battery died overnight, I spent a few minutes gazing at my favorite picture of my wife, before tucking the phone away. Good night, Patricia.