Leaving the pile of ash and ember behind, the two eventually stumbled on another wolf who had feathers in their fur and markings that did not resemble Annakian symbology. Behind the wolf was what looked like a pack. “ Háadish nitsʼééʼ łeeʼ sitą́,” the wolf asked. “ Uh...what?”
Navajo. One of the many languages Luetsun didn’t know. At that point, he knew just what these wolves were; an independent pack. Very few Silvertip wolves spoke Navajo anymore.
As soon as he came to this conclusion, Rufus stepped forward and, to his surprise, started a conversation with them. Luetsun couldn’t help but gape at what went on before him, and he continued to gape with wide eyes after Rufus came back. “ Is something wrong?”
Luetsun shook his head and asked, “ How many languages do you know?”
Rufus sat, lifted a paw and said, “ Oh, let’s see, Navajo, Northern, Cherokee, eskimo, Annakian and Aztec. Why?”
When Luetsun only showed more shock, he narrowed his eyes and said, “ Honestly, what did you expect from a thousand year old dog?”