Hushed Willows who speaks latin?

"Fucking?" he repeated shamelessly. He'd never heard that word and didn't know what it meant. Before he could ask, Natasha spoke to him in a sharp, scolding tone. The boy's ears wilted. What did she mean by that? Oh... As it dawned on him, Tambourine glanced down between his own legs. She was probably right, though this was the first time it had happened and he'd been spending a lot of quality time with that stump...

Natasha didn't want to try and though Tambourine's first instinct was to try to convince her—it was fun! it felt amazing! he didn't want her to miss out!—the pup sensed that he wasn't wanted here. That knowledge sat in the pit of his stomach like a cold, hard rock. He didn't think he'd done anything wrong. Maybe Natasha was just having a bad day.

"OK, well... bye!" he said spiritedly if a little uncertainly. Despite his words, Tambourine didn't take off right away. Instead, he bit his still healing lip and waited in case he'd misread the situation and Natasha insisted he stick around.