"In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps toniiiiiight~ In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps toniiiight–" In the light of the setting sun, dusk was falling upon the Sandawe as a group of bestial hunters trudged back to their home with a bundle in tow. Said bundle was a person, small in statue and wrapped up like a silkworm larva on a long pole. The sounds of singing were cut short when one of the disgruntled beastmen shoved a rag into the small oni's mouth, stopping her from making more noise. Myouga was slightly worried at the moment, mostly because she didn't know if the rag was clean or not. From her point of view, this was all just a big misunderstanding that talking could fix. If they would let her talk–that is. 

The tribes of Onnen were not fully reconciled with the other continents, and naturally cultural clashes were bound to arise. Thus, it was vital that scholars and linguists such as herself build bridges for the sake of universal solidarity. But something might have gone wrong in translation, as she was being carried back in a very uncomfortable way. At least she didn't need to wear herself out by walking? It all started when the little arcanist was going on her tour through the land with a goblin guide. They had explored the forests, spent a few weeks on the road before arriving at his jungle hometown, and even swapped stories with the locals across a fire. 

It was when they parted ways and she traveled back towards Namibia where she ran into some surly, burly types and did her best to communicate her intentions. You could see how that went. And so, Myouga was in a bit of a pickle. She could escape, but her hands were tied–literally. She didn't want to hurt the two carrying her, and if possible she'd like to at least resolve whatever misunderstanding she caused. Hopefully someone could help her with that.