Blackbeak Bluff 'YOU'RE GOOD. YOU'RE WORTH LOVING.

her face flamed again, whisky eyes flitting away from his curious gaze. it was all the more nerve wracking that she could not read what he thought when he looked at her.

concern, yes. disgust? fear? superiority?

such things had not been uncommon in the past when she encountered wolves. even coyotes could be disparaging. 

her eyes returned to him all the same when he gave his name in return. this word, the she-dog knew.

"hviske," the word was thick, rich with the tongue of her father. she practically beamed. it had not been her people's tongue, but that of another island they had called cousin. "ciaradh."

"nae," she murmured, casting a look around them with renewed interest. "a'm from a'galeach island." 

"where 'is? where hviske from?" she turned to her counterpart eagerly -- him larger, shrouded in fog and mist; her a small beam of sunlight.

some translations to help with her language and/or accent:

Ciaradh: whisper.
Nae: No.
"I am from the moon island."
"Where is this? Where are you from?"