Rising Sun Valley scapegoat

She's speaking Dotharan, because I'm too lazy to deal with translations.

She caught a few words here and there. Her master's name. "Slave." "Rise." These were words that Tomahawk heard frequently enough to pick up on. The latter was comforting, if only because it meant that she had pleased this one. "Thank you," she replied, her mouth (and brain) struggling to form the words in her thick, disjointed accent. She was not sure that she would ever be convincing with the language, but she would do her damnedest to try.

"Name Tomahawk," she added, as if it was of some significance. Did he even care about her name? Did any of them? She did not know, but it felt right to introduce herself, even if it was in a broken language. "Speak bad," she said with a frown, "Learning."