Cassiopeia's View Jibbering, howling and chants in long dead languages

There was a part of Dragomir that didn't want to believe Dacio when he said he was a friend—how easy it would be to trick the young and foolish with such an assurance! But the greyscale wolf confirmed it moments later by speaking his name, which he could only have known, Dragomir thought, if he was dear to Vercingetorix or some other who knew of his family. Coupled with speaking smooth, fluent Trigedasleng, Dacio was clearly one of his father's old kru.

The boy's tense posture relaxed immediately and his own tail rose into a relieved wag. How long had it been since he met someone and could trust them right away? Too long! Sha, he confirmed. He didn't bother to ask how Dacio knew it; Dragomir had already drawn his own conclusions.

You are a friend of hers? I haven't seen Praimfaya in eons, Dragomir revealed, brows twitching almost imperceptibly toward a frown. He wasn't aware of Isilmë's connection with the younger wolf. He had only known her when she was a baby, before Aurëwen took them from the mountains. A lifetime ago when measured against what he'd been through since; he regretted that he hadn't thought about her in all that time. Why does she fret about us? He wasn't oblivious to the fact that his captor and his father's old enemy were out there, searching, even though he might come across that way by asking this. The question wasn't what there was to fret about. It was how Praimfaya knew that she needed to fret at all, or even why she cared.

As if to confirm for Dacio that any worry for them was indeed founded, Dragomir fretfully announced, my sister is missing. I am looking for her.

NANOWRIMO: 291