Awakened

Pigs DO Fly

Epic was sitting by a table within the outpost, chin resting on top in an effort to not jostle the tiny winged piglin firmly wrapped around his neck, watching the different conversations around him. He was always ready to provide input wherever necessary. He was one of the few here who could understand what everyone involved was saying. He'd already suggested to Cross that they recuperate awhile and send a runner to the bastion in case one of the others in the Overworld came searching for them.

And Dust seemed lost as he ranted about how Ink just sprouted wings out of nowhere. Blue was arguing that it wasn't really out of nowhere, he was just glad it wasn't something more disturbing. Killer seemed oddly aloof from the whole conversation, Fresh trying to come up with theories as to what was going on.

All of them were keeping to a corner, piglins steering clear as a few more stared from a distance. Epic couldn't blame them, they didn't know any better and it was pretty weird. So he sat, feeling like a shoat fell asleep on him with how the little guy clung on.
It was weird to think about sometimes. He could remember, before all the responsibilities, before he was very large and was just an unusually pudgy shoat himself, when none of them really spoke as they did now.

Back then, he would admit that Ink was more his favorite. Then again, he was pretty sure Ink was the one to introduce obi tears to him in the first place. The tiny piglin had always been the free spirit of the two. Cross was often apologizing for and reining him in. Epic was just along for the ride then.

Looking back, it was really funny, the faces the elders made at the sight of the two of them scaling the wall. Who said hogs couldn't climb?
…Well, maybe not anymore, but he was great at it when he was still small. Even though Ink used to help him up by grabbing his tusks.

“..Hogfriend?” A timid voice asked. Epic blinked, shifting his head slightly to look at the gaggle of shoats hiding behind the oldest of the five.
“Yes.” He replied lazily, a tad amused.
“Hogfriend speak?” Their eyes widened, and he was delighted to see how bright they were.

“Yes.” He repeated, shuffling so that his body was turned away, letting him look at them better without lifting his head. There was a flash of uncertainty in the older shoat’s eyes before he elaborated.
“No want move, shoat sleep.” He flicked an ear back, barely glimpsing a white-furred wing curling over Ink and hiding most of his body.

“That shoat?” One of the little ones grunted in shock.
Epic paused, unsure of how to explain.
“..Body shoat. Mind.. old.” He awkwardly twisted a foreleg to nudge the wing, the limb twitching away. For some reason Ink let out a distinctly sculky trill in his sleep. The children's eyes widened, staring with open mouths.

“Shut mouths or eat smoke.” Epic mused at them, huffing when they promptly obliged with a series of snaps.
“Is what not-shoat?” One of them asked.
Epic pondered the question, debating what to say. Eventually he settled on something more personal.
“Old friend.. brother who was lost. Changed by Other.” He wasn't going to delve into the confusing nonsense that was sculk. Let alone name it.
.. Maybe he should try Cross's approach and just say the name it already had. See if they could learn it without the spontaneous knowledge thing that those that Awakened had. They were practically Awake themselves, anyway.

He then recalled the title the guards had given Ink earlier, finding it amusingly fitting.
“Called Storyteller. He know many thing that had been; many thing that could be.”
Was he talking up his old, weird friend to a bunch of shoats? Yes.
Was it 100% completely true?
Also yes. Just weirdly phrased due to language constraints.