Witch's Marsh please let me blaze

He spoke with a broken tongue and she could only assume that he was not from here. Or if he was, he came from a pack with their own tongue. Pray? What did they pray for in his world? Who might they be praying to? Fear could be temporarily pushed aside for curiosity. Certainly so when he did not seem offended or like he might strike her down for being so foolish.

She felt reassured that Gleipnir was indeed his name, from the gestures he managed to conjure up. In return she would offer a nod of her head to show that she had understood his name. Sakhmet.