Gyrfalcon's Keep and when the weeds begin to grow

A soft trampling of slushed earth reached her ears, and Exousia drew to a sudden stop, turning to look towards whoever it was that approached. A girl stood there, no more than a yearling, with a coat of burnt wood and a blackened mask from which two pine-green eyes peered. The young wolf seemed interested, if not a bit shy, and though the language was somewhat foreign to her, the tone of voice was decidedly friendly.

Exousia inclined her head but made no other motion to indicate that she was friendly as well. Hail, she said, using a similar greeting, the only word she recognized within the girl’s pleasant accent. I do not understand your other words. Do you know this tongue?