“Sun is god.” The man pointed upward at the blazing red orb in the clear sky. “You will learn to talk and also to worship”
A
fter a few hours on the island, Mordechai began to realize just how terrible his situation was. The islanders were barbaric men who worshipped the sun. They were large men and more vicious then a pack of hungry lions. They spent most of their day organizing fighting tournaments, and King Mogoto was always the one who decided on the victor.
To make matters even worse, Mordechai didn’t understand their strange language. They yelled at him, clucked their tongues, and waved their arms like crazed roosters, but to him it was complete gibberish.
One of the oldest islanders, a tall but stooped-over man who wore the same tribal outfit as the others, approached Mordechai.
“You can speak?” the man asked.
“Yes!”
“Why you not speak, then?”
“You’re the first person to speak my language.”
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