Duck Lake ravens, not ducks

The argent man's mind was quick to conjure up images to go with her words. His brain provided him with pictures of the woman, as she is now, running from one tree to another. The image soon twisted, contorting into something different. Instead of her running, he imagined her tossing one of the ducks from the lake beside them high up into the air. The image was, to say the least, very amusing. He nearly had to prevent himself from outright laughing, not that it'd be a hard task. It was nothing more than a noise, like speaking, so it could be controlled easily. "It would be odd," he agreed, looking to his mental image one last time before pushing it away. "It sounds like you had a lot of fun when you were young."

Alastor was quick to realize his own words, immediately concerned over whether or not the wolf believed he'd called her old. "Σκατά," he murmured, then returned to the common language. "I am sorry it sounded as if I were calling you old. I am sure you are still young." It was a natural reaction for him. Having once made the mistake of calling his mother old, he was quick to learn that most woman did not appreciate such words. His mother had made it very clear that she despised such words by delivering a sharp thwack to his head. While it was in the past, he'd never forgotten it, and would be sure not to disregard such a lesson simply because he was in a new land.