The Heartwood i'm a ghost of you, you're a ghost of me

It was moderately difficult for him to read through the words that were mouthed. It wasn't a skill that he had been encouraged to pursue on the islands. Still, he was able to do his best to make out bits of the stranger's sentences and piece together the portions that he didn't understand. It seemed that he was not from the forest where they stood, but one that bore similarities. To the seawolf, they were all the same. His mother would have chastised him for that, but he didn't understand the innate need to belong to the wood.

The name wasn't important, and so he didn't really care to understand the poor muddling that had fallen from his mouth. Instead, he nodded his skull and glanced toward the trees that stood beyond him. “You been there long?” Ford then inquired, feeling it was best to ask questions that could be answered with a simple yes, or no. Of course, the swarthy titan did not know what he would have done without his own tongue; it was far too valuable to him.