Sleeping Dragon bone tongue

It wasn't often that Rosalyn felt out of sorts.  In most places she would settle down with an almost irritating brevity, considering herself to belong there simply by the fortune of being, well, her.  With Caiaphas this had been a large part of the problem, her own pride and penchant for snark not serving her well.  But here was different, and so far she had the uncomfortable sense of feeling oddly out of place.

Likely it was her status as invalid, and her inability to properly explore and contribute.  She wasn't always a team player, no, but even she understood the importance of doing some semblance of her part.  So when she arrived at the meeting, she hung back.  As it progressed, the feeling only grew as words she had no inkling of prevailed.  The ranks here were strange, as was the tongue that many of them spoke.  It wasn't one she had ever crossed in her travels, and did not at all harken to the language of the southern shores.  

She missed the cue and failed to congratulate the girl who she assumed was being recognized.  So she had made hunter.  Good for her.  Their talk the other day had been enjoyable, and she was one of few the Rivaini recognized, so she was glad.