“Drem Yol Lok? Vis hi hon zey?” The deep baritone above me seemed to be asking me a question. I knew that it was Dovah. I’d played Skyrim. But I didn’t understand what he was saying. I struggled to open my eyes. “Vis hi mindoraan zey? Fid geh, noton hin klov.” The voice asked.

Damn. It. All. Why couldn’t I move. I was awake. I wanted to open my eyes. But I couldn’t seem to open them. It was like my body wouldn’t listen to my brain.

“Drey hi frolok fah ok silmand?” Another voice came in with the first.

“Nid. Zu’u ni drey kuz meyar vorulle tol hi drey. Lunduv zu’u drey.” The first voice replied. His tone flippant.

“Rok lahney. Zu’u nis ofaal gein fahraal, to. Rok los gein julah. Nii aal kos tol rok ni tinvaak dovahzul.”

“Zu’u lorot do daar. Gein Rotuniik meyz. Druv ni fen rok ahlok? Naan lorotte?”

I tried to open my eyes again. With an effort, a bleary line cracked the darkness. It slowly widened, still hazy. As it cleared, I looked to my left. And my right. I was in a hospital bed. A dragon in an EMT uniform with uniformly black scales, but silver horns rising from the crown of his head curving gently toward the centerline stood on the right side of my bed. Another dragon—this one’s scales reminded me of the desert sands in the Sahara—stood wearing a doctor’s lab coat and underneath a fine-looking suit.

The EMT spoke first, “Til losei! Oblaan! Hi aal kos aan malur laagus. Mu siiv hi nau faal reid do fin maag ven. Hi lost vofahraluv. Mu drun hi het wah koraav fid hi tul lahney.”

I stared at him blankly. I ran through my head. I tried to find any knowledge I had of the language. “D…Drem Y…yol L…l…lok?”

“Hi tinvaak! Mindoraan hi mii?”

“I—” I coughed. The doctor handed me a plastic cup of water. I grabbed it and sucked the whole thing down quickly. Then I tried again, “I don’t understand.”

“Ahmeriken anglahzul, ruz?” the doctor questioned. “Drey hi laan fah faal vahzah rotuniik, Malrik?”

“Geh, Vahraniik. Zu’u wahl bek tol rok tinvaak anglahzul ahrk hispanyahzul. Nust los faal zok tinvakaat het, ni vahzah?”

“Geh. Nust los. Pruzah. Nu. Vos mii frolok ahst ok sinne.” The doctor took his stethoscope from his long neck. He placed the earpieces in his earholes. Then, he helped me sit up. He lifted my shirt, his scaled fingers scraping against my skin. “Bek. Zu’u praag hi wah sum ko.”

Guessing by what he was doing—where the stethoscope rested—I breathed in, then held.

“Ahrk tir”

And again. Solely based on my experiences with other doctors I assumed he wanted me to breathe out. So I did. “You know I don’t understand a single word you’re saying, right?”

“Zu’u ni tinvaak Anglahzul, julah. Lig, kos prem. Mu fid fah gein rotuniik. Rok fend kos het das.”

“I! DON’T! UNDERSTAND!” I wasn’t quite shouting, but I was raising my voice enough that I saw the sandy brown dragon wince.

I was hoping that someone was going to come to help us understand one another. Otherwise they were going to treat me how they were going to treat me, and I’d have no say nor understanding of what they were doing. I looked at the EMT and say quickly. As soon as the doctor had checked my vitals, I noticed him write things down in a tablet. It’s definitely Dovah. From Skyrim. Weird. I guess it does make sense. These guys are dragons. I found it odd.

The black dragon looked over to the sandy brown one, “Saag, hi praag zey tul?”

“Nid. Hi vis bo. Bo sav lasse. Hi mindok? Hin kroson!”

The doctor dragon looked over at me, as the black dragon leaves. He sighed. “Bek…Vos zey koraav. Zu’u…” Here he placed his claw on his chest “…Gerrik. Hi…” here he extended his hand out, pointing at me.

“You want my name?” I asked. “Jacob.”

“Jeykahb?” he asked.

I nodded my head. I jutted my chin toward him and then say, “Gerrik?”

He nods his sagely. He stands. “Fid hi praag naantruk, brah faal faantruk.” He said. Gesturing eating and drinking then pointing to the call box on my bed.

I nodded my head. “Thank you, sir.” I put my palms together and did a little bow. He nodded his head.

“Zu’u fen meyz ko ahrk frolk nau hi das.” He said then left.

Ok. What the fuck? Where was I? Why were both my doctor and my EMT dragons. And Why weren’t they able to speak English. I looked into the sky. Ah. That might explain some of it. There were two crescent moons in the sky. The stars which were visible with the moons’ brightness were different also.

So, I was on a colony world. How’d I get here? I don’t remember. Why didn’t I speak Dovah? Which seemed to be the language of choice on this world. Why wasn’t I a dragon as well? I was so confused. There didn’t seem to be any answers. I tried looking through my memories, only to find I couldn’t really remember anything. Hmm. Ok. So now I was laying in a hospital bed, on a colony world where the main population seemed to be anthropomorphic European dragons, with barely any memories. Except, for some reason, I could remember playing Skyrim. I remembered Dovah…And I also remembered my name. At least there was that.

The doctor came back in a moment later. “Jeykahb?”

“Yeah. I’m here.”

“Bek. Krosis. Mu saraan tul faal rotuniik. Nuz, zu’u piraak aan lorot. Mu piraak daar golgazze. Zu’u rikofaal daar virlaan. Nii fend fey.”

I stared at him blankly. He handed me a tablet. A translator application was open on it. Oh, thank the gods knew that tablet would save our conversation. Even if translation programs were still inaccurate at colloquialisms, they did their job. Finally!