He shook his head negatively.
“Where you come from, do you eat one another?” he asked.
“No,” I replied, “we do not.”
“Why?” he asked, and I saw his eyes narrow as he awaited my reply.
Was it mental telepathy or just luck that put the right answer in my mouth, for somehow, intuitively, I seemed to grasp what was in the creature’s mind.
“Our flesh is poison,” I said, “those who eat it die.”
He looked at me then for a long time, with an expression upon his face which I could not interpret. It may have been that he doubted my word, or again, it may have been that my reply confirmed his suspicion, I do not know; but presently he asked me another question.
“Are there many like you in the land where you live?”
“Millions upon millions,” I replied.
“And what do they eat?”