The panic in Roger rose when he couldn't understand her, and he wondered if she was speaking quickly or not speaking English. When the words began to form something Roger's brain recognized, the line of his jaw unwound and then rewound. He looked up at Dean and Angua again, motionless and soundless, save for the rise and fall of slow, even breaths.

"Wait," Roger said, holding a hand out. He got up, took cautious steps forward, watched how they breathed, how their eyes darted back and forth as if dreaming.

"Dean," He tried once more and when nothing happened, he froze, trying to align some kind of reason in his head. What had the island done? What could this be?