"You sure?" the old man said, pausing before he took another bite. "The amphorina I used was only recently ground, so it adds a little something to the taste." The old man continued eating his stew, though he may have eaten the second bite a little too hastily. He coughed a few times, but waved off any assistance. Instead, he took a pull off his wine sack, then took a couple of deep breaths.
"Sorry, but I love my amphorina," the old man chuckled. He took one more drink from his wine sack before putting it away.
"Now, what were you asking? Ah, yes, the atadors. As I said, only a small portion of the atadors have the skils that the trappers find useful. The rest are as normal as you and I, save for the forms they possess. Atadors are a primitive people, remaining close to nature. Those that do have the skills the trappers need, usually don't have the ability to manifest it in themselves. The trappers discovered the skills of the atadors quite by accident ages ago. Since then, they've honed their ability to bring out those skills, as well as ensure those skills are used only against those the trappers want them used against. The atadors can't defend themselves, and human beings have not motive to defend them. Which brings us to you. You may be uniquely qualified to aid the atadors. And you have motive." The old man gave Daniel a wide, toothless grin. "You see, Daniel, the atadors are the key to you getting home. Otherwise, how would you say it? Oh yes. You're fucked."