Romans 8:18-19

It seemed his pestering was finally paying off. He helped his mother haul skins out to the stones, his cattle dogs more than happy to help out. They'd been doing a great job of keeping an eye on his mum, of making sure she didn't overdo it while he was busy keeping an eye on the borders. As he sprawled out on the ground waiting for others to join them, the two girls settled between his outstretched paws and he took a moment to groom them each between the ears in thanks. It had been a good idea to bring them home, even if they were sometimes a bit noisy (and chewed through two barrels in his den and 3 skins, and chewed through the dirt wall of his den and found a rather cranky badger on the other side).

Other's trickled in, and Kenway lifted up on his elbows a little straighter as his mother began to speak. He had wanted to ask what she had been drawing, but it didn't seem to be the time, or the place. His tail tapped impatiently on the hide, drinking in the words she spoke, grasping at any hint of purpose they might offer.

"speech"