Firefly Glen Ma Zasush Dasse; Its just a flesh wound

at this point, praimfaya is used to being asked about 'trig' for it has long since become expected knowledge that not many in these wilds speak it. for, as far as blodreina — and thus praimfaya — knows most of what was left of drageda had fled to the other 'geda's to follow whomever stepped up to become heda. it is called trigedasleng, praimfaya tells her. it is ...like common but a — how did her mother put it? bastardized version of it. still, it is praimfaya's preferred method of communication though she does foresee herself using it anytime soon. she would teach henwen, as her mother had offered, and she teaches ingram phrases and words when she thinks of them but without her mother she is left forced to largely communicate in common.

praimfaya pauses to peer over her shoulder as the woman rises to her paws, watching as pool tests her weight upon her injured leg before her gaze — and most of her attention — returns to the task at hand. always, praimfaya repeats softly under her breath. that is a good attitude to have, she comments as she digs through underbrush in search of moss. it would be easier, she thinks, if they were in a bog. you'd fit in well at roangeda. a compliment, and a seized opportunity.

she roots around some more, trying to find damp ground, padding a few more feet away. what language do you speak? praimfaya asks then in return, the strange words the older woman spoke prior to her 'always' in common not having fallen under praimfaya's notice.