Two Eyes Cenote cuento

The tilt of muzzle, eyes, the sound of shifting tine: all of it a song Legend had learned the dance to in order to piece together language. 

Why, what, who. Regardless, a question. Curiosity, or maybe an interrogating question. Distrust, uncertainty, or appreciation in some cases.

None of it would change her actions. "For Soto," said again, a tilt from her head.

The imp's paw lifted to hold up a single digit, paused, and then pointed at the meat. "How to say this? Soto language?"