(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

It seemed incredulous. " 'Tis what? But..."
"The first two sentences are unrelated, only there to trick you. Remember:
there are three words in 'the - Common - Tongue.' The third word is
'tongue.'"
"That's... that's... ooh! A devious trick! Why, I have no tongue, either!" It
stopped, then laughed, dust billowing from its creaking jaws. "That's good,
all right. I thank thee!"
"Be sure to think of a good stumper to get him back," I replied as I left.
It was down a side corridor where I met the second of the Dead Nations'
Triumverate.
The musty-smelling female zombie looked exceptionally old, almost
mummified. Her skin had the appearance of moldering, gray-green leather,
and one of her eyes had fallen out, leaving a dark pit in her face. The other
had shriveled to apparent uselessness, but her vision seemed keen enough
for her to examine the wounded zombie in front of her. A long gash had
been torn across its chest, and though its guts had been removed long ago
in the process of embalming, an exposed cavity like that couldn't have been
good. The female zombie had been sewing up the wound with utmost care
and a motherly touch, as if she were caring for a child who had scraped its
knee.
The zombie she was treating looked away, as if embarrassed, but she
casually ignored his shame as she nipped the end of the thread with ancient
yellowed teeth and tugged until it snapped. With that she rose, gave an
affectionate pat on the zombie's face. Her lips creaked as if smiling, and she
groaned, "B-be cuuurfuul urunnnd weeeraaatz."
The zombie nodded in response, and shuffled away.
The female noticed me as the other zombie shuffled past with a polite, if
unintelligible "kscuzzz meee." She tilted her head and spoke with a voice
that was slow and thick: "Guh-guh-guhreeetingz."
"Greetings..." I said, shifting a little. Odd, how such tender affection could
seem so unsettling.
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