Stone Circle Heartland

“Suppose I need to learn Icelandic, huh?” She laughs, pursing her lips as she considers a way to effectively communicate.

An idea sparks and she springs to her paws to trot over to the nearest tree, pushing at the bark with her muzzle.

“Tree,” she denotes, tapping the trunk again, searching Skáld’s face for comprehension. She probably looks like a fool with how enthusiastically she mimes, but she carries on, as if grand sweeping gestures might help him to better understand her meaning. “What’s Icelandic for ‘tree’?”