~Skiddice~
(-"ish", like "licorice")
In my formative years, I knew the likeness of this term in its relation to Baroness Mittens. She was our cat, and the true lord of our estate.
Skiddice, however, is the first in our scheme of mythical languages!
Fact #1: Skiddids (who speak skiddice) are at the bottom of their food chain, beneath baby rabbits and fleas[1], but atleast above grass.[2]
Fact #2: The creature lives its life on the run, and its gettings-about must be brief, accordingly.
Fact #3: Such brevity necessitates timely communication.
It is within the throws of death that survival birthed a language to these tiny people (Did I mention that their ears are large? They are, from birth. It is not uncommon for newborns to be mistaken for butterflies).
The language makes no use of vowels or syllables; those things take too long. Skiddids yell all of their consonants at once, in one instant. What is a shriek to us is as much as a whole lecture series to them, and they understand every bit of it.
They are masters of lingual discernment.
You should know that it is unwise to lie to a skiddid. It will pick apart every telling detail in your voice, and read you like a book. (If you should happen to make this mistake, do not worry too much. It unlikely that your skiddid will live long enough to spill any beans.)
I suspect you will find execution difficult, having to take all of those vowels out and keep consanants out of eachother's business.
Regardless, skiddice is worth knowing about and keeping in good practice (I practice my own skiddice 4 times in a week), as you never know when your own affairs will require a speedy tending to.
[1] This goes without mentioning baby rabbits with fleas. They, too, are quite deadly.
[2] Wet grass.
