Cricket Creek Bog comme un boomerang

The way he moved caught Niamh's attention immediately. That confident swagger, the relaxed sway of his hips, was friendly in nature, though she wasn't sure how to handle someone approaching her with such a lackadaisical attitude toward a stranger like her. Vaguely, she recognized the language he used; something that would've been spoken in her family some generations ago, though by now only simple sayings and greetings had been passed down to her generation. She knows just enough French to know he  greeted her politely. But she bristled at the possessive nature of the word my.

"It's a bog." She blurted bluntly, ignoring his question. "An' it h'ain't yours." She added frankly. She was territorial, after all, and while she tolerated others being in these lands, she did not take kindly to those who tried to lay claim to them, or those who hunted in them. "Who're you?" She asked, then, wanting to jump to the point and suss out whether or not she was going to have to root out another unwelcome neighbour.