Redhawk Caldera No one says no to Gaston

By now, Qeorvik was becoming used to his preferred tongue being the anomaly in these lands. But this didn’t mean that he had to like it. His cheeriness dimmed as the other wolf expressed confusion, both physically and verbally, and he sighed, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. I understanding, huffed. Of course, he may have understood but he certainly didn’t speak it very well.

He replaced his disappointment with a winning smile. Ég skil vel að þú sért hálfviti, Qeorvik added slyly. Sorry, he went on, appearing genuinely apologetic, tail wagging once more. It is not, er, easy to switching my tongue. I say – how do you say – I am pleasure to meet you, já?