Firefly Ravine baby did a bad, bad thing

"isleña." the syllables were exotic, bringing to mind quite different lands than the ones wherein he been reared, and mahler practiced it twice before filing it away. "mountains. mahler," the shadowpriest repeated, gathering to his mind the similarity that the lithe she-wolf had pointed out.
"isleña. island," mahler offered in return, a true smile curving his lips in the barest hint of amusement. their languages were different, yet lay so entwined within their mouths, and there was a camaraderie to be had in that.