But the wolf's expression deflates and her ears flatten, and then Xván'tay just feels kind of bad. "...Sorry."
If she was back in the plaguelands, she'd be striking first and asking questions later, too. And probably still would, if she was the one with a wolf creeping up behind her- she's seen what those teeth can do to flesh.
She's yet to figure out why any of these people speak the common tongue, much less speak at all, but the rumbling last word isn't one she's ever heard, and lots of traders come along the Txsit'si. Not that it means much.
"Yeah," she says. "I guess...I was hoping for someone I knew. I mean, I knew they wouldn't be here, but... I'm not supposed to be here either."
A shake of the head. She's not going to feel sorry for herself in front of a stranger. "Can you," she frowns as much as the bird can, "what language is that?"




