Luneshale Pass sion

Wulfwynn's valiant attempts at communication couldn't have found a more illiterate recipient. The pointing is bewildering, and so are the inquisitive noises. To him it is the same as the chattering of gorriónes—an esoteric language a phylum's distance apart.

He wishes that it would touch him again with its nose, which is so much like his despite everything.

Quién te hizo eso, Ulf-win? Y por qué?

Then he reaches out towards her nose, eyes half-shut in consternation.