Overture Downs Oh, misty eye of the mountain below

Thank you!! I love Bjarna as well, she's so cute.

Bjarna. Kvarsheim. It sounded like nonsense, and if not for the pointed pause, she might have melded and mangled the two words into one. Bjarna was very deliberate with her speech and her gestures, however. The blonde girl's estimation of her age shifted up by several months as she tried to decipher this information. She knew from her father that wolves existed who spoke differently than she did. He called it languages. She had never heard words like this before, so she assumed that Bjarna spoke in languages. Or something like that.
But if that was true, how did Bjarna know that she had asked for her name? She had gestured to herself, but then she had pointed at... something. The girl peered in that direction, utterly baffled. Then she looked back at the pale adolescent. She was Bjarna, that much seemed clear despite the breaks in logic. But who was Kvarsheim? Or... what?
It was a start toward getting her home, at least. Whether it was a person or a place or something else entirely, it was something familiar to the disfigured girl. But now Bjarna struck her as older, more capable than she had initially thought, and the girl in the reverie was at a loss. She probably didn't need help after all.
Kvarsheim? She echoed anyway, feeling more foolish than ever and hoping to cover the feeling up with her own curiosity.