Dragoncrest Cliffs i'm not crying. you're not crying, are you?

Her efforts had paid off, and Isleña was quit proud at having made her meaning known despite the language barrier. It was such a foreign thing in this land; to speak and be understood, to ask for something and to receive it. It was a nice feeling, for once. For the first time in a long time, Isleña felt a small spark deep in her chest that she had only ever felt with her family, up to this point. It jumped up out of her chest and licked at the back of her throat, then manifested in her ardent attentions through a poignant narrowing of her eyes and husky tone of voice. 

“Drageda,” she parroted, finally confident in her pronunciation — and it showed. “Want Khorasan…” she bumbled for no reason, save to let Verx know that she had not willingly left her family to join up with him and his other coastal wolves. She was thankful for them, yes, but her appearance here was not a matter that she took lightly and hoped that he would not, either. After all, what had happened to her family might also befall these Drageda wolves too — she hoped not, but she really didn’t have any indication that it wouldn’t, did she?

She sighed, incidentally lapsing into her mother tongue as she stammered. “…amma…İndi…” then she huffed, realizing how useless it all was. 

A least Vercingetorix seemed in better spirits. He seemed chatty once again, looking for the landscape and back to her; eager to do something. It was cute, really. The roan flame didn’t say anything in response to his question, but certainly appeared to be interested in his doings because she followed the man’s lead; looking back and forth across the expansive, seaside forest. She’d relented to the fact that she’d have to do anything that was now required of her; thus was her new lot in life; but, see how he had softened up when he was secure in knowing that he was the boss? If that was the case, she’d follow his example like a dedicated student, learning the ways of her new home.