Oystercatcher Tide Pools absolute misery

Jizaar turned at the approach of a wolf, one with a dark head and chest that starkly contrasted the rest of her body. He grinned a coyote grin at her, tail wagging to show he was friendly, and was about to speak when she beat him to it. The words that flowed from her mouth were strange and lilting, syllable tones moving up and down in a strange manner. Not that he was one to talk, what with his own strange way of speaking. He shook his head, indicating he didn’t know what she was saying.

“Jizaar does not understand,” he told her, hoping that she could speak two languages and would not be confused by his own speech. If not, he was afraid they would be stuck making strange noises at each other for all of eternity—or until one of them grew bored. Of course, they could always fall back on body language if need be.