Word Play

He kept his words short because he knew their power.  Carefully, he crafted expressions and phrases, making sure to do no harm as he spoke to the children. Language is a tricky thing, he reminded himself. His present, tongue, was not native. Sure it was the only language he knew, at least fluently, but it was still foreign to his soul. He had to work hard to avoid its traps. His parents, their parents, and the ancestors before them were of pure speech. The words they spoke reflected their lives of peace and plenty, of spirit and magic. He thought of them now as he struggled to teach the children, careful not to infect them with this dead tongue that once had him spellbound.