You lay as still as you can, doing your best to look around with just your eyes and to listen for any sounds. A minute passes, then another. You begin to think that you're just being paranoid, but then you hear a fragment of a whisper carried by the wind.
"No fire ... just laying there ..." Knowledge floods into your head and a prompt flashes into your vision.
Congratulations! Through your Cunning Linguist Trait, you have learned to speak and understand Highland Gallic.
You strain your ears, hoping to hear more of the conversation despite the headache now hammering at your skull from the knowledge dump.
"Not a threat ... trespassing ... just kill him and ..." You can't make out whether the voice is male or female, but you're not liking what you hear. There are at least two people out there, and it sure sounds like one of them is advocating killing you. Slowly and carefully, you reach your right hand out and pat the ground until you find the haft of your spear. Gripping it tightly, you pull it back towards your chest and, heart thudding in your chest, make a gamble. Let's hope that point of Luck I have pays out, you think to yourself as you rise to your feet and call out in your new language.
"I can hear you out there. Please, I mean you no harm. I was magically **** from my home and brought here. I am sorry if these are your lands, I truly did not know. If you would just direct me to your borders I will leave at dawn."
Silence greets your words; even the night insects have gone quiet. Then, you hear footfalls -- many footfalls, you realize with a hint of panic -- approaching from downhill. You turn to face the sounds, spear held loosely but at your best approximation of readiness. A moment later, you see them.
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