Duck Lake he gives the world its saddest sound

His overabundant use of his native tongue seemed to be othering him in these northern lands. Still, he would use it. Sriracha was proud of his heritage and his people. He would just have to make his speech more accesible. Perhaps the others could learn it, and there would be another string to tie them together. Thank you, he said, swallowing thickly around the gracias he has almost uttered. Sriracha followed her gaze, looking to the reed-thick waters of the lake. Why...? Oh! I was hunting. There were ducks. The ducks in question had settled in the distance, mere dots upon the lake.