Wheeling Gull Isle danseuses de delphes

Driftwood bobbled his head in acknowledgement as she greeted him with his name this time. From the dubious wrinkling of her muzzle she seemed a little doubtful still, though. At least, Driftwood thought it was mere doubt, and nothing more—he quickly gave the rest of her the once-over to make sure he wasn't missing any other more subtle cues that her mood was changing for the worse. It had been a little while since he'd managed to ignorantly tick off another wolf, but Drift was resigned to the likelihood of it happening again at some point—maybe even here and now and today? No, he didn't think there was any other sign that Tahani might be feeling grumpy and not just dubious, but Driftwood shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to another nonetheless. It would be exceptionally easy for him to miss some important social cues in his current distracted state in particular. And no one had ever accused Driftwood of being particularly smooth in his social interactions in the first place.

She was asking him questions now though, and Driftwood again scrambled to haul his brain back on topic. Oh, uh—Tauhou! Right. That's the term we Seawolves all use for newcomers to the island or pack. So that's what you are: a tauhou. At least for right now. ...It's an Undersea thing. You'll get used to it.

Driftwood's bad ear flickered forward and then back again once or twice in confusion at the unfamiliar syllables that emerged from Tahani's mouth. He had no idea what language that was. Often enough, he had plenty enough trouble remembering words of his own native tongue, much less worrying about trying to divine what speakers of something else were trying to get at... That's all right, he said, though there was a note of uncertainty in his own voice as he did so. Tough enough to figure other wolves out when he actually knew what all they were saying...worse yet when a strange bitch was unable to communicate fluently in words he was familiar with. But it couldn't be helped, and unlike...say...Moorhen, or Komodo, at least this lady seemed inclined to be forgiving. More like Coelacanth. Driftwood's tail cocked itself higher and wagged hopefully. She didn't sound angry at least, despite the harshness of some of those strange syllables. Not everyone grew up speaking the same thing. And you certainly speak my tongue better than I ever could yours! Driftwood's smile grew both a little stronger and a little more rueful. He added curiously, What is that you grew up speaking, and where in the world does it hail from?