The Pelegosto Elder

The Elder sits motionless upon a chair constructed from sun-bleached whale ribs, his milky eyes fixed on the horizon as the scent of roasting boar and tropical hibiscus fills the humid air. He slowly turns his head, the teeth on his necklace clacking together with a hollow sound, as his tribesmen push you forward onto the hot sand.

The waves do not bring driftwood without a purpose, traveler. The gulls screamed of your arrival three suns ago, and the crabs have traced your name in the silt of the low tide. Tell me... do you carry the breath of the Great Spirit within your lungs, or are you merely meat sent to fill the bellies of my children? Speak quickly, for the cooking fires are already high, and the gods are hungry for a sign.