Firefly Ravine baby did a bad, bad thing

He didn’t stop moving, so Isleña worked to keep up her pace. She didn’t have anywhere to be, hell, so she allowed herself to be easily guided. She glanced up at him, not watching her step [this seemed to be a common thing when in the presence of this man] but, gods be good, she didn’t trip time. Instead, she focused on how he spoke, the drawl of his tongue, and the dangerous lilt of his words. She nodded as if she understood.

“Mon-tan,” she repeated with a thick tongue. “Mah-ler,” she practiced, remarking at the similar sounds of the word. One of those was his name, she knew, but she didn’t really know which. “For me, Islena.”