There's a great wooden stage in the center of the tribe. A week has passed, long enough for you to learn a few words in the language. Your mind proves agile, if not quick, and you know more through intuition than book learning.
Still though much of the talk of the adults eludes you. they speak quickly and without obvious breaks in between words, making it hard for you to pick up new ones. Your limited vocabulary is little impediment right now, however. You stand on stage with your wrists bound, the chiefs hand on your shoulder, and the free Patrons of the community heft stone daggers with bone hilts. They're ornate, gilded with worked gold and edged with such as well, as it's far sharper than any stone around here.
"Daske-nag Dola [Apprentice]? [His eyes] seak nacha-bol [with youth] set [integrity]. [A quick mind] sepi-tal [stature as] onam-set [greatest netcap tree(s)] bona bona."
The broodmother speaks: "Nek." A denial.
The Volir Champion speaks: "Nek."
The Messenger speaks: "Nek."
The Medicine woman speaks: "Nek. [Sorry!]"
The shaman speaks: "Hiya."
There are whispers in the crowd. Ulla hasn't chosen an apprentice in almost thrity years, since she laid her last clutch! Yet now, she chooses you?
Ulla steps forward and cuts a small slit in your cheek. She slides to the right and does the same on the other cheek, before using the bloodstained blade to cut free your bonds. You are an apprentice!
Ulla leans down until you can smell her fetid breath, like the worst kind of fruit. She uses simple language to say "I need Saksa-tolun root. Now, Boy."
And suddenly, you're on your way.
...
But you don't know which plant is the Saksa-tolun! Your Mistress is still standing on the stage, speaking with the chief. What do you do?