Morningside Cuesta I Know Him

The language was given a name. Zoratto repeated it gruffly underneath his breath — the second word, not the first. What Alastor said, that his family spoke the words in his home, told him something else; not everyone here was of this land. There were probably more migrants like himself and Alastor here than he suspected. That didn't make them anymore dangerous.

He looked firmly in Alastor's eyes, his strange blue eyes, and shook his head. No. He had no reason to think so. He had seen real magic, real curses. Alastor had nothing of that about him; no strange smells or markings, no strange, rhythmic chants, no evil eyes. He was a normal wolf, despite his foreign tongue, name, and look.