Witch's Marsh please let me blaze

you're peryite, the girl exclaims, as he notes the feathery beating of her tail. he? peryite? but ...what was a peryite? what did it mean? was it an insult? he doesn't think so, given the way she speaks to him. as if ...almost as if he is a deity like those he worships. but he casts aside the notion — he knows nothing of these wolves. they could very well be godless; and the nearer she draws, the more uncertain she becomes, he sees. as if she has never seen this peryite before. so, the question comes around, still unanswered. who is peryite? is it him? or someone or something else?

his muscles do not stiffen at her proximity. she is young and though not exactly to be written off as harmless, he doesn't perceive her as a threat. ... — not ...peryite? he asks uncertainly, though his uncertainty stems from his lack of confidence in the common tongue and whether he's parroted her words correctly.