My Aran improved dramatically. Still, every so often, I would unleash a string of truly nonsensical words that butchered every conceivable rule of grammar. On one particularly exhausting day, I committed one such crime when asking Max where the Stratagram ink had gone. (“Has gone where . . . black water?”) Max hadn’t so much as paused as he reached into a drawer and produced the ink. At Sammerin’s look of somewhat horrified amazement, he shrugged and said, “After a while, you become fluent in Tisaanah-speak.” And we looked at each other and exchanged a small, proud smile.
OHH MY HLGOD THIS IS EVERYTHING
