Swamped

The silence suddenly ends, but in a stranger way than you would have expected. It sounds like a menagerie is all around you, and yet it's a menagerie whose squawks and roars and shrieks and calls make perfect sense to you.

We can save them, clucks a familiar chicken. And we should.

So that they can call the exile back again? hisses a snake.

Barely one in twenty of their number called to it, a pig squeals. Are we to punish them all for the actions of a few?

The others allowed it to happen, roars a lion. What few actions they took to stop its worshippers were too little, too late. Are we to give them salvation for such weak efforts?

What you hear next is a loud rush of water. But it's just as clearly talking like the rest of them.

The wizard forced the exile into the open, the captain relayed my orders faithfully, and the third mate executed them with honor. And this all happened in my domain. If we will not save them all, at least save those who made this possible, or let them give their lives to others.

Oh. They're talking about you. And you're suddenly aware that they're all metaphorically staring at you, since for whatever reason you're in the middle of their meeting.

Perhaps you ought to say something.