Barrow Fields i hated how people shouted at me for looking different.

Mandarin. The word sounded odd in his mind, its syllables smooth and lilting where the ones of his language where rough and harsh and hearing where she was from, Stjornuati supposed this made sense. They were as night and day. A sound left him, quiet and contemplative as he consumed another piece, pausing as he lifted a blood tinged muzzle from the small carcass.

Hii-long-sheee-you? The attempt was an utter failure but the male was fascinated by the idea of a language so different and obscure when compared to his own. An aspiring omniglot, the star eater would forever be enraptured by those who spoke a language apart from his own, though his favorite would be the unspoken, bodily language that he had learned from a young age.

One moon-cycle. This one and this one's brother are fresh to these Wilds. Yourself, lítill sjódreki?