The pig man holds his nose where Valla touched it, his beady eyes blank. He clears his throat, leans on the section of pipe with three of his arms and answers in strained common.
"Before it fall," he says, pointing to the hole in the ceiling with his free trotter, "I talk fish tribe. Then I go home. The world shake, and it fall on me..."
He coughs as he formulates the correct language.
"I live in hot place down, down below, like room with sun," he says, pointing at the floor. "Can we go?"