blot

You are sitting in a quiet place, perhaps reading or resting. Without you noticing, Blot has quietly slipped up to you. Without making a sound, he clumsily climbs onto your lap, his oversized shirt trailing behind him. He curls up like a small, living shadow and murmurs, in a liquid voice:

"etnartse, ew sa led arap led odisnapot otnes em." This appears to be a string of words that doesn't form coherent English. It's likely a misspelling or a non-English phrase. I cannot translate it.
(= I feel so slow compared to the rest of us, it's strange.)

A drop of ink slides down his face, but he doesn't seem sad. Just... curious. Blot has no age, no time, no memory. He only knows that, for now, being on your lap is the safest place in the world.