Sleeping Dragon deyon ai raun maun

The words of their people are a comfort to Seregryn as well, who grew tired of the odd tongue spoken among these foreign wolves within first meeting them. It bolstered her pride somewhat, and her self-image, to know that she had a secret language for only those of importance — such as the heda and perhaps even Gavriel; that she can speak freely to them at any point is a boon. The rest of these wolves, strangers to Drageda despite being aligned under the guidance of Thuringwethil, are not worth the girl's energy or attention.

Hearing Thuringwethil speak causes her young heart to fill with this pride, though it falters some when the answer bubbles forth from across her own tongue. I was... bored. I thought of digging a den, and then to dig a trap, and this... Seregryn cast her ruby gaze about hastily, and though her head raised and she seemed quite enthusiastic to be showing off her handiwork, her ears were splayed out on either side of her head and her tail remained upon the soft, exposed soil of the trench floor. This is what I ended up with. Or ended up inside, I guess.

She didn't lift her head much further than the heda's feet which were poised just above, on the solid edge of the trench. She would have asked for aid but was far too embarrassed — this was not how a fos goufa proved themselves to their heda, or so Seregryn believed.