Tuktu Hinterlands more, give me more

There was an awkward pause—his unnerving dark eyes studying her, waiting, and she realized she had missed something in translation. Or, rather, the lack of translation. The pale wolf tried again—and the midnight rake remained in the background, muttering something in his foreign tongue, munching away contently as she remained on the rather intense end of a greeting from his brother.

“Name,” he pressed, and her lips formed a small ‘o’ of understanding, and then a furious blush of embarrassment. He repeated what she now understood to be his name—would she even be able to repeat that? It was beautiful—rugged. Like him. His eyes drew her closer, her brows arching as he pressed her further for her calling. “Meadow,” she whispered, clearing her throat after, trying to swallow her nervous habits.

“Syoorn-noo-wah-ty..?” She tried—what better way to leave the most terrible first impression than absolutely butchering the man’s name?