5/13/2025, 7:34 PM
She was as quiet as the sigh of the breeze winding through the wildflowers. Trygve did not pressure her to speak louder, only pressed his ears forward with interest. The field was quiet except for the distant warble of some kind of oriole and the frolicking wind. He usually preferred the frigid cold to keep him alert and grounded, but the sunlight pouring down his forehead and spine only made him feel more pleasant than usual, the earth under his paws more distinct, not hazy and distant as he so often did.
Cloud Lash, she said. He tilted his head, a crease forming between his brows, before he realized this was the lesson he'd asked for. Trygve hummed thoughtfully under his breath, glancing between the woman's pale coat and wispy features, then to the clouds swirled against the wide blue sky above. Sure, he could see it.
Nuvts’eyaȟa.He echoed. Cloud Lash.
Another word spilled past her lips, that same lilting tongue she'd been born to. Trygve promptly butchered the word, with a quiet enthusiasm. It meant the bundle of plants she'd pointed to, and he thought that would surely be useful. Knowing the word to ask for medicine in many languages was a skill he should pursue more. He tried the word again, after offering Nuvts’eyaȟa an apologetic dip of his chin.
![[Image: trygve-chirpeax.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/vBkzDQZV/trygve-chirpeax.png)
