To Hell in a Blizzard

He was still very cold, but it helped to have something - someone - there to drag his attention away and keep him from stewing over his misfortunes. Now fully facing the woman Basileus sank to his haunches and then draped his tail cat-like across his paws to try to insulate them. Of course warming them was probably a losing battle; the rock beneath him was as cold as ice and its chill ran deep. As heat ran into his toes it was immediately drawn out by the chill underfoot.

The woman sounded a little irked with him and his lack of understanding - which was in and of itself irksome. The blame for their inability to communicate with ease rested on their shoulders equally. Basileus had practice, though. While he hadn't dealt with the traders much he had briefly taken care of a wounded man who didn't speak a word of Italian. They'd made it work. Patience was necessary, but if this woman had an ounce of it they'd manage.

With slightly narrowed eyes he watched her pick up a paw and point to herself. "I'm Serefina." That was easy enough. He even recognized the name. While very uncommon he had heard it before back home. With a short dip of his head Basileus nodded his understanding. "Ah, buon giorno, Serefina." As she had done, he briefly uncovered one of his paws and pointed to himself. "Mi chiamo Basileus." He knew just enough of her language to understand the question being put his way. "Very small." That simple statement in and of itself betrayed just how limited his grasp of the language was. "Parla italiano?" Given the gesturing he assumed the answer was no, but even if her grasp of his language was as limited as his grasp of her's it would make communicating easier.