Lion Head Mesa peach pit

If she expected a bolt of understanding to strike him, it does not. Her words are not familiar except for their proximity to the language of mountains; he presumes she is trying to introduce herself, and Racharra holds a strange meaning in this tongue that he does know.

Curved Fang of the Watching Tiger.

He rumbles lowly as this translates in his head. When she says sister he hears sisi—thunder.

Who was this? Clearly she was not born of the mountains, but she looked proud enough to be the daughter of a horse lord. He studied her with what focus he could muster. Her body looked strong and healthy, and similar to his own (if he ever had consistent meals), but beyond that he saw nothing familiar.

He huffs, Rakhvazzo remekat. Oma qafat.

When she doesn't move, he bristles and spits, shouting up at her: Zisat azzafrok! Gwe! With nothing left to say to the girl, and no energy left to harass or patience either, Drusk stalks to the other side of the pit and focuses against the wall, flattening there.