Lost Creek Hollow the black hills, the colly

She is greeted. A feathery girl, wispy and thin, not unlike a catbird. She speaks in a foreign tongue, one that sounded almost like that of her father's, but distinctly different. She makes an attempt at mirroring it no less; perhaps there would be some mutual understanding. 
Ti ho portato un regalo, It is weird and rusty as it falls from her lips, her tongue moving in strange ways. She supposed many months of letting a language grow dormant would do that to you. The hare is dropped at the base of long-haired feet, a courteous but thin smile taking its place. Yeah, I guess I'm still new here. I joined Swiftcurrent a few weeks ago. Heard we had neighbors and figured I'd come say hi. 
Blink, blink. Oh. Right. Names exist and are important. I'm Wren, by the way.