The Sentinels young as the morning; old as the sea

Marcello, though patient, did not need to wait long for an answer to his call.

She appeared as fog rolling in off the sea; materializing before him into a healthy and, albeit young, beautiful woman. Despite her age, her bearing spoke worlds of her experience and place as Queen beneath the mighty boughs of the sentinel woodland. She was all things teeming, wonderful, and wild. He wet his lips, and belatedly realized he was staring. It didn't reflect a hidden laviciousness. Marcello was simply in awe. 

Immediately, with a stinging surge of shame, he corrected himself and humbly lowered his gaze to his paws. She greeted him with tones that reminded him, strangely, of his childhood. Warm, kind, comforting. One ear twitched forward as she recited her title, and his tongue rolled within his shut jaws as he attempted to mimic it silently. 

Ultimately, he was unable. So he chuckled nervously, "You, uh, might have to repeat that one a couple times," He offered with a smile. "don't wanna insult you by butchering it with my fat tongue." 

"It's a pleasure, I'm Marcello. Sorry if I'm, er, interupting you. I was just curious about this... place. Donnelaith?"