In her world, the original ancestors of her people appeared human, but were not. They split and went to settle among humans and give them the gift of language stemming from their own. As such, in modern time, witches proficient in Mothertongue could understand and communicate in any language they encountered. But here was different, and the words of unknown other languages fascinated her.

That word, however, did not require translation. It sounded virtually the same as the word for Singer, in the country she was born and had to flee, which would later become Germany.

Sarah faced him more attentively, blinking, face relaxing both in hearing the word and as a result of her Work.

“Yes. I always preferred the more accurate and poetic Sänger to ignorant mobs spitting Hexe at me while waving torches in my face and dangling nooses behind their backs.” Perhaps a tone of bitterness slipped.

“Later they called us witches in America. We built a life for ourselves there, and reclaimed the word. But it is all just a name they call us.” She could go more into detail but all in good time.

As she finished hacking the last bit of verdant obstacle and they entered the clearing before the road, she titled her head curiously back at her companion. “You are…familiar?”