Focusing on the girl's words, Delta could in fact find some similarities between them and his own language, but not enough to really understand. He picked up on 'yu lok'--you look? Like when he'd said she looked sick, but nothing else that told him what her question meant.
"I don't know," was all he could answer with, though whatever disappointment he may have felt at the miscommunication was overshadowed as the kit inched forward and began to copy his motions with the moss; he watched carefully, still half convinced she'd suddenly drop dead from malnutrition or take back off running into the forest. When she managed to drink, Delta's shoulders sagged with relief. He gave a small smile then, anxieties momentarily forgotten as she drank her fill and realized with awe that even more of it flowed behind him in the stream.
"Yes! Wodah," Delta said, clumsily trying her language. "Lok," he turned then, keeping his eyes on the kit as he motioned towards the stream with his chin. He lowered his muzzle to the water, but instead of diving down as he had previously, he lapped at it with his tongue to show it too could be drank from. Where would she have come from, he thought worriedly, to be so surprised to see a stream? For a creature who'd spent his entire life in the water, the thought of being so shocked by the sight of it, especially in such a small amount, was perplexing.
He wondered what her reaction to the ocean would be, but then his thoughts skidded to a halt. He was thinking as if he were going to just keep her; there was no way he could manage that. Even half-starved she was nearly twice his size, and a wolf at that--a wolf with wings. There was no way someone like Delta could raise her; he had to find her other wolves, he had to find her family. She would suffer otherwise.
Even so, he felt strangely guilty at the thought. He shook the thoughts from his head, electing to worry on thoughts of the present instead as the kit gave a few clumsy flaps of her wings. She understands 'fly', Delta realized, flinching only a small amount at the sudden motions before her wings dropped unceremoniously back to the earth. Now that she'd moved them, he was certain she wasn't holding them right. Even more reason to find her someone who can teach her, he reasoned with himself, face falling as she stared forlornly at the dirt.
"Um, that's okay," he reassured. She'd said something relating to her wings after fruitlessly flapping them, that they didn't work? Delta elected to take it as that; hopefully he was catching on. Should he say they were good anyways? What if she misunderstood and thought he was saying she could fly? Would he by lying to her then, if it turns out she never could? But why would a creature be born with wings then if it were destined to be earthbound? He could feel himself beginning to spiral back into his thoughts, but he jolted back to attention at the kit's next question.
You wing? Delta blinked in confusion. He followed her gesture, and his eyes lit with understanding as he realized she was pointing to his fins. I wish, he thought of saying, but he doubted that would translate.
"I no wings," he answered instead, shaking his head. It took some effort to raise, but slowly he outstretched one of his fins to show the kit; it was all skin and short fur, no feathers. "These are fins. Fins," as he said the word, he lifted a paw and tapped it. "I swim, not fly."
"I don't know," was all he could answer with, though whatever disappointment he may have felt at the miscommunication was overshadowed as the kit inched forward and began to copy his motions with the moss; he watched carefully, still half convinced she'd suddenly drop dead from malnutrition or take back off running into the forest. When she managed to drink, Delta's shoulders sagged with relief. He gave a small smile then, anxieties momentarily forgotten as she drank her fill and realized with awe that even more of it flowed behind him in the stream.
"Yes! Wodah," Delta said, clumsily trying her language. "Lok," he turned then, keeping his eyes on the kit as he motioned towards the stream with his chin. He lowered his muzzle to the water, but instead of diving down as he had previously, he lapped at it with his tongue to show it too could be drank from. Where would she have come from, he thought worriedly, to be so surprised to see a stream? For a creature who'd spent his entire life in the water, the thought of being so shocked by the sight of it, especially in such a small amount, was perplexing.
He wondered what her reaction to the ocean would be, but then his thoughts skidded to a halt. He was thinking as if he were going to just keep her; there was no way he could manage that. Even half-starved she was nearly twice his size, and a wolf at that--a wolf with wings. There was no way someone like Delta could raise her; he had to find her other wolves, he had to find her family. She would suffer otherwise.
Even so, he felt strangely guilty at the thought. He shook the thoughts from his head, electing to worry on thoughts of the present instead as the kit gave a few clumsy flaps of her wings. She understands 'fly', Delta realized, flinching only a small amount at the sudden motions before her wings dropped unceremoniously back to the earth. Now that she'd moved them, he was certain she wasn't holding them right. Even more reason to find her someone who can teach her, he reasoned with himself, face falling as she stared forlornly at the dirt.
"Um, that's okay," he reassured. She'd said something relating to her wings after fruitlessly flapping them, that they didn't work? Delta elected to take it as that; hopefully he was catching on. Should he say they were good anyways? What if she misunderstood and thought he was saying she could fly? Would he by lying to her then, if it turns out she never could? But why would a creature be born with wings then if it were destined to be earthbound? He could feel himself beginning to spiral back into his thoughts, but he jolted back to attention at the kit's next question.
You wing? Delta blinked in confusion. He followed her gesture, and his eyes lit with understanding as he realized she was pointing to his fins. I wish, he thought of saying, but he doubted that would translate.
"I no wings," he answered instead, shaking his head. It took some effort to raise, but slowly he outstretched one of his fins to show the kit; it was all skin and short fur, no feathers. "These are fins. Fins," as he said the word, he lifted a paw and tapped it. "I swim, not fly."