Kildeer Rest propaganda you should fall for

To reiterate once more, Barrett was not the smartest man. He could run, fight, hunt. Could learn, and love, and protect. Wasn't great with his words, but tried all the same. He was not a leader, not good with planning, or making decisions that really meant something. But he could read body language. See it in the woman before him: the way in which something inside of her flickered at his mannerisms. See the way she was invited in, drawing a step forwards.
And it was this small moment that he would allow to inflate his ego, just the slightest bit. A soft smirk rose upon his face. Ravah, she said, and he nodded. Offered his own in return, while her eyes smoothed over his pelt. Pleasure ta meet ya, miss. Callahan, myself, came southern rumble. Gravelly and low. But after he spoke, he listened. Listened rather intently, at that, at the words she begun to say, but paused, as if interrupted by something inaudible. He drew his brows together, confusion washing over him.
Just as quickly did she pull forwards once more, however, this time, she was hardly a breath away from him. Shocked, she seemed to be. Confused, as well. Questioning. I don't know a Covah, miss, he apologised. But, I know a Sega, Chief'a Great Sky, if that, er, sound any familiar? For he knew, now, that there was something that linked them. Their scents, their voices, the way in which they carried themselves. It was similar in a way that he could finally identify. In a way that, if he were to be right, would almost certainly go to his fat head. Ah, just as Sega had warned.