Near the exit, Thylaris heard something strange and disturbing. He heard something resembling a language, one he'd never heard before, interspersed with the cries of Elves.
Thylaris stepped out and seized Varno Elendili, the sword of Isolde, and Protector of the Elves.
Before him he saw several wild men carrying pieces of the Elven armor, and with their hands eagerly touching the scantily clad Elven women.
“I wouldn't use that sword if I were you,” said a strong female voice, with a thick accent.
Thylaris glanced abruptly to the side, utterly shocked. Before him sat a slender yet warlike young woman on a Triceratops as if it were her mount... which it certainly was. "Who are you, and what have you done to the members of my team?"
“Kanab'eb' chi xik eb' li ixq” the woman shouted to the men, who seemed to obey the woman against their will, sending the women forward.
"I could ask the same of you." "We've been watching your people for a while. But now I notice you're already starting to force your way into ancient shrines of my people."
"Ma us raj naq taakanabʼ aʼin anaqwan?"
“My apologies, but my warriors are already discussing among whom they will divide the women.”
"What?" Thylaris gripped the sword in his hand a little more tightly. "And what language do you speak?" "This is the first time I've heard it."
"Just kidding. They're just men. They've never seen silver armor, and blonde women aren't that common here either."
"Wi jun chik li winq tixk’e li ruq’ sa’ xb’een jun reheb’ li ixq a’an, laa’in tz’aqal tinch’ot lix tel." "Our language? Qʼeqchiʼ. It was the language of the people who left most of the buildings here. You saw those ruins on the way here."