Cedar Sweep nordstjärna

Rosenskärm had begun to pull apart some of the slicked fur of his chest, where the red of the blood had begun to matte everything.

He flicked on ear at the question and then answered in a voice holding a bit of surprise, Ah, it is word for you. Jager. That wasn't a very clear explanation but Rosenskärm was no tutor. He was mostly taken aback that this stranger was interested to any degree at all, in his language or his people. Perhaps it was a passing fancy by the man to be friendly? But it still surprised Rosenskärm.

Rosenskärm, that is word for me. Name, for me. He licked his lips and tasted blood. How to... Give, to jagermann, as thank-you? If only he could speak this region's common tongue! It took so much longer to take what words he knew and translate them, then try to speak them aloud in a way that made sense.

The boy knew he owed this man for the hunt — but what could he give?