It was later that same evening that the couple who came from the sky managed to start a fire on the outskirts of the village. During their short time there, they had managed to gather some soft foliage for bedding near their newly made fire.

"All that time spent with my backward-thinking father finally paid off," Leslie said, looking back on the bow drill he made using his shoestring and a firm stick. "I’m going to look for some food. You can stoke the fire with those sticks over there," he said, getting up from their makeshift bed. Maryanne grabbed his arm and tried to pull him back down to her.

"Don’t leave me," she pleaded, looking at her with tears in her eyes. "I wasn’t made for this kind of life."

"I didn’t agree with this arrangement either," he said, pulling his hand away. "Plus, we’ll starve if we don’t eat something. We’ll scout out the place in the morning. Perhaps we'll find a way home."

Not too long after that, Leslie had caught a possum-sized rodent and prepared it for dinner. Maryanne looked tense as she watched her husband chop the legs off the creature with a small pocket knife and peeled the skin off its flesh with relative ease. With the dimming sky radiating the fire and her lover, he looked like a monster as he butchered the corpse of the poor animal. She didn't want to wonder whether it suffered or not; she didn’t want to think about the whole process at all. Leslie was used to this rural lifestyle, using nature’s resources to his advantage. It was something never shown to Maryanne, who has always been knee deep in wealth. He had never acted like that in front of her. It was both horrifying and intriguing to her. She never knew that being out in the middle of nowhere would bring out the wild side of her husband.

"Leslie," Maryanne said, looking at the man grilling their food. " We aren’t the first ones they’ve met."

"Probably not, darling," he said, pulling out the meat from the embers near the fire and brushing some of it off. He then plucked a piece of meat off, tossed it in his mouth, and held it out for Maryanne. "Have some of this please. I know it isn’t what we’re used to, but at least we won't be starving."

"I mean," she said, plucking a piece of the strange meat and staring at it in contemplation. "They know English, proper English even. Even when they were talking to each other, they didn't switch to a native tongue of theirs."

"An explorer probably taught them English," he said.

"How long do you expect someone to learn a completely different language?" she said, brushing the rubbish off her dress. "And for that to completely be the default language for a group of people? You saw the way they looked at us? They had never seen people like us before. I’m certain that they have met no one else outside of their village. So why, out of all the languages, has English been the language that they speak?" Maryanne was certain that her thinking was correct. She has read the books and the newspaper articles about explorers who have found a strange new world and the struggles to communicate with the natives there.

Even in situations in which the primitive tribes learned English and had constant communication and contact with Englishmen, they still maintained their language for generations.

So, is English this tribe’s native tongue?