Bearclaw Valley Green, green thunder and the loud, loud rain

The exchange is simple and warm. Ameline. Anthelin.
Athalia peels away as if suddenly startled, slinking back and away as the foreign, porcelain voice rings out again. A language she does not understand. To Anthelin she once more turns her gaze toward, pupils blown wide with a surge of wary energy; a search for safety as shudders roll from shoulder to tailtip. Her smile drops. She hesitates, and then a tiny peep as she points one paw at her chest: Athhhhalia.
She lowers herself into a bow before proceeding to slump onto the earthen floor, tail dragging across the dead grass. These wolves are friendly. There is no danger here. She passes a glance to Amneris, and then she realizes — there is food. Food!
Athalia all but scrambles to her feet and climbs over the back of her sister, teeth gnashing wildly as she fights for what she now decided was her share of morsels. She had not realized just how long it had been since she had fed.