The–I shall call them Goobers for lack of anything better–surrounded our tree perch and kept up a steady stream of gibbering and squeaking. After about three quarters of an hour, with a building headache, I shouted down at them, "Will you lot shut up?
And they did.
Taken aback, I asked, "Do you understand me?" Nods from all but the littlest.
Heartened, I peppered them with questions. "Where are we? What do you want? How do we get to the nearest town?"
More gibberish. I was reduced to the equivalent of that infantile Midgardian game, Twenty Boring Questions That Can Be Answered Yes or No.
"Can you take us to safety?" Yes.
"Can you take us to food and water?" Yes
"Are there any of the armored men with weapons near here?" No.
"If we come down, are we your prisoners?" No again.
"Will you take us to your leader?" Yes. Promising!
"Does your leader speak our language?" Another yes.
It’s about damn time!
We have climbed down and are performing the introductions. If I understand them correctly, their names are Burble, Gribber, Iggle-nix, and Yennerp, and the little sprout is Snerxx.
Perhaps I have had too much sun, but they look a bit familiar. Surely the one-eyed Burble is this realm’s Odin. Big, red, dumb Gribber is no doubt a Thor-analog. Green, three-eyed Iggle-nix, who needs to stop ogling Sigyn or I will pound him, is Fandral with a prettier face. Little Yennerp, with his horns, is a Heimdall that has been through the laundry and dried wrong. And the youngling Snerxx—well, I have seen the Lady Sif make just such an "I’m-so-scary" face. (And no, you’re not.)
Well then, let’s be off, shall we?