Starting a conversation
Honk out of impatience near the Whale's roundabout, and it assumes you've started a conversation.
The reply takes all day.
An all-day reply
Your shoes squeak across a perfectly dry floor. Your chair announces every adjustment. Your front door produces a long, mournful note it has never made before.
The gnomes can translate, but decline. ‘It's still on the first sentence.’
The last squeak
The curse lifts the next time you patiently let someone take their turn. A warning honk never starts the curse—the Whale knows the difference.
You may have the horn. The Whale gets the last squeak.