How I met your mother...
Poor Teigan, he doesn't have enough words. I totally know the feeling having had poor language skills in a foreign country.
“Where did you come from?” She asked. “Who are you?”
“I- I go kinus far.” He motioned away from them in the direction Kayrin had heard something retreating.
It took a moment for it to register what he meant. “You chased it off? You chased the kinus away?”
“Yes! I chased kinus away.” He smiled with a nod.
Kayrin put her finger on the trigger guard and let the barrel relax away from him. He in turn relaxed his arms, but stayed where he was. She frowned at him. “Why?”
He sighed and scratched his head. “Par salev -This would be easier if you spoke Getier or my Kamenan was better.” He mumbled.
“What was that?” Kayrin asked.
“No- uh… no…” He struggled to find the right words. “I speak Kamenan bad.” He admitted and shrugged.
“Yes you do.” She agreed and pushed the butt of the gun into the dirt and leveraged herself up against the boulder.
“I help?” He took a tentative step forward.
“I’m fine.” She waved him away. “If you want to help you could find my horse. The thing I was riding on when the kinus attacked us. The kinus was trying to eat my horse. I need her back.”
He listened intently and parsed through what she said, mouthing a couple of the words. It took a moment after she finished speaking, but when he figured it out his eyes lit up. “Yes! Help find horse. Here you good?” He questioned, obviously concerned about her well-being.
“Yes, I’ll be fine here.” She assured him.
He nodded crouched as he turned away to examine the ground. He studied and traced a path with his hand before quickly moving off down the slope. His movements were fluid and graceful, flowing over the rugged terrain with the ease born of complete confidence in one’s abilities within the environment. When he dropped out of sight Kayrin propped the rifle against the boulder and assessed what all she hit whens he jumped off her horse. With the adrenaline abating the aches became more obvious, starting with a long scrape on her right forearm that was clogged with dirt and gravel. Her skirt and boots appeared to take most of the abrasive damage that would have torn up her legs, but her shins were sore. She felt for her water and rolled up what remained of her sleeve before unscrewing the lid and rinsing off her arm. She winced and grit her teeth as she scrubbed the bits of gravel and dirt from the abrasion. She had a bump on her head, but that seemed to be the worst of it. By the time the man returned leading her horse she had wrapped her arm and managed to gather some wood for a fire.