The small village was clearly occupied almost entirely by warriors; while there were a few, smaller creatures tasked with cooking, washing and tending to the small population of lizardfolk, the vast majority spent their time sparring or training. The clunk of wooden weapons together was near constant, and more than once they spilled one another's blood on the battlefield. They had a pair of witchdoctors, too, whom she could recognise by their elaborately decorated staves and the fetishes they wore, who conversed in yet another different tongue. They never spoke in common; and thus she knew nothing of their plans, even as evening approached.<br/><br/>It was around then - as even the few rays of sunlight that fell through the thick canopy began to fade as night approached - that she had her next direct contact. A small, slender creature - a slightly different race in truth, that were more slender and less suited to war, thus making them little more than servants to the larger and more dominant races - came to bring her a plate of food; little more than meat, that had been charred unlike the raw stuff that they themselves tucked into. He was silent, but once he'd pushed the steak-like item through the bars he waited, watching her with wide, all-black eyes.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>