The Mourning Bells Are Ringing

The grin on his face reached his eyes as she answered him in the second language she knew so intimately. Her mother had drilled the language into her and her childrens heads so thoroughly, both she and her children may as well have been born to the language instead of the common tongue better known as English. It was the language that had been passed down through generations in the Nomads, and again in Redwood Pack and its forefathers. When her next litter was born, if she was blessed with one, she would carry on the tradition again, drilling it into their minds until they knew every syllable and nuance. She held a secret worry, however. Both she and Falk hadn’t been at the top of their health when they’d coupled, and she hadn’t felt the same way yet as she had before. It was early yet, but she still worried.

When the male spoke again, it proved that English was far from the language he knew. He spoke smoothly in this language. His assurance that she would have no trouble from her brought in return a nod of acknowledgement. ”"Tá áthas orm; tá sé ró-álainn oíche chun taitneamh a bhaint troid."” They walked in silence for a while, and her movement was back to the elegant poise of a queen; smooth strides, head raised to the wind. Her tail was level with her hindquarters. There was no ‘better than you’ prissiness to her body language; merely self-assurance and polish that came with having had Erani for a mother. That nasty limp was gone, though the scar left on her shoulder still showed fresh, rather than the leathery quality of an old scar. It felt good to be able to walk properly.

She felt his eyes on her, and glanced at him, gold and blue gaze mirroring the curiosity as he introduced himself in the gaelic. Her answer came easily, an introduction returned. ”"Is é mo ainm Surreal Ellen Adravendi. Is mór an pléisiúr chun bualadh leat, Korr."“ She wondered what the questions were that she saw in the fleeting glance he gave her. He was readable, but something about him said that one way to keep him friendly was to avoid direct eye contact, however much she might be used to looking into anothers eyes to read the emotions dwelling there. Her curiosity, however, came out in another question. ”"Cá bhfuil tú ó? Labhraíonn tú teanga mo .. go mhúin mo mháthair liom."”

Though she tried, she was unable to erase the sudden pang of loss that struck through to her voice as she spoke of her mother, or the pause at the mention of the snowy healer. The loss was too recent for her to have completely healed the soul wound left bleeding by her mothers loss. However much her physical injuries may have healed.

Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Hear" ---- Think