Any other ideas?

Vesper’s tail flicked slowly behind her as Oleander came up to her. She had done a pretty decent job of scaring him away the last time they had had a proper conversation. Since then, she had collapsed walking with Wilder, and had the Warlord Basilisk come by and put the fear of the Armada in her. He was damn near the size of the Polar Bear, and she could see him holding a whip to her back if she got out of line.

She hadn’t realised how comfortable she had gotten around Oleander and this pack until those two events. She was feeling especially fragile when Oleander started to look at her back. It took some effort, but she managed to hold her tongue. “My Master’s don’t believe in training slaves, Lord Oleander. A smart slave is a troublemaker.” She explained, a hint of a sigh in her voice. She hadn’t the faintest idea how to read, write, hunt, or do any of the jobs a normal wolf knew from puphood.


"Speech"