Of course, they were both strangers. They had not known him after the incident. Ulbarich supposed that was true for a great many persons in the world. It reminded him, quite suddenly, of the distance between himself and the two of them. A woman as beautiful as Onainat might have encouraged more talk from him. As things stood, he thought of it only in a distant way, and never with himself being aggressive. Despite their connection here - at this table - he was as far apart from them as a man on an island was from the rest of the world. All of his thoughts, all of his feelings, were trapped inside of his skull.
He could make her aware of them, but...
There was both a coarse way and a polite way to inform them of his condition. Neither note was worthy of the scrutiny Onainat's eyes would give it. Yet he produced the more polite of the two papers with a flourish, between two fingers. His movements were military and precise. The arm extended crisply, shoulder and elbow, to lock with the folded paper before Onainat. His eyes danced with mirth. Lips not thinned, yet stretched, forming into a smile. The habit was a difficult one to break. Most importantly because it was necessary, most assuredly in the presence of superior officers.
It said:
Good sir. I was wounded in service to my country. As a result, my tongue was amputated. I am unable to speak, but comprehend the spoken word quite well in any case. My sword is yours to command.
A shrug was added to his expression, when she was done reading. He knew quite well she was no sir, but he did not carry a note addressed to a female. His shrug was half-apology, in his eyes, which were penitent. His shrug was half-laugh, in his grin, which was not.