Permafrost Hollows Who does she think she is?

Qeorvik didn’t need to understand her every word to know the tone. Every part of him pointed forward with aggression as his lips curled into a derisive sneer. Stupid? he repeated, somehow just as snobbish. No, no, kjána stelpa. I knowing more. Arrogance licked his every erroneous syllable.

Sá heimski ert þú, the boy asserted. You only speak weak tongue. Ugly tongue. His muzzle curled in distaste, his whiskers trembled at her nearness. My pretty face not waste. Yours.