She flinched at his words. This prompted her to grab more tools. "I'm going down there to work on it."
"I'm going to work on it," she mumbled. "You can use this if you want to look around I need to go work." She set the translator on the desk before going back through to work on the plane.
Late that evening, when she returned to the house, it was empty. The translator rested where she had left it.
She found him a couple hours later. He was leaning against a brick wall in an alleyway, unconscious. He had a black eye and was bleeding from a cut on his cheek. His skin was cold and he was silent.
He looked up at her blearily. "Avec... avec di'syll," he said, his voice low and quiet. "Idette myillt adoa calo... cecyl..?"
He frowned, tilting his head as he took them. "Edette... Ionei vedeyl," he replied, looking concerned.
He cried out as she tried to help him stand, his hand wrenching away from hers and going to his ribs. "Til! Hedyl mendibly poivre syldi!"
