Everest's reassuring words calmed Marshall's anxieties. He knew it was time to tell his friends the truth. So, the next day, he gathered everyone in the Lookout living room. His heart thumped in his chest, but he stood tall.
"Kia ora, my friends," he began, his voice thick with a melodic New Zealand accent that sent shivers down their spines. It was the first time they'd heard him speak anything other than excited puppy barks.
The pups exchanged confused glances. "Kia ora?" Chase, Marshall's best friend, tilted his head. "What's that, Marshall?"
Taking a deep breath, Marshall continued, his voice gaining confidence. "Kia ora means hello in Te Reo Māori, my native language. You see, I'm actually Maori."
A collective gasp filled the room. Ryder's jaw dropped. "Maori? But Marshall, we never knew!"
Marshall chuckled, a hint of sheepishness in his voice. "Well, now you do! I was scared to tell you before, worried you wouldn't understand or accept me."
Skye wagged her tail excitedly. "Of course we accept you, Marshall! That's amazing! Tell us more about being Maori!"
Marshall's smile widened. He launched into stories of his childhood in Aotearoa (New Zealand), describing lush green valleys, snow-capped mountains, and the vast blue ocean. He spoke of his whānau (family) back home, their traditions, and the importance of respecting nature.
The pups were captivated. They'd never even heard of Maori culture before. When Marshall finished, Zuma, the energetic Labrador, bounced with enthusiasm. "Can you teach us Te Reo Māori, Marshall? It sounds awesome!"
Marshall hesitated. He wanted to share his heritage, but a flicker of worry crossed his face. He remembered the playful teasing he'd faced as a pup for his accent.
"Well, Te Reo Māori is a beautiful language, but it's quite complex," he began cautiously.
Rocky, the mixed breed pup with a knack for fixing things, interrupted. "Come on, Marshall, how hard can it be? We can learn a few words!"
Marshall sighed. He decided to give it a try. He started with greetings, teaching them "Mōrena" (good morning) and "Haere rā" (goodbye). The pups repeated after him, butchering the pronunciations with playful enthusiasm.
Marshall winced. Te Reo Māori was more than just words; it was a language woven with respect for the land and ancestors. The way the pups were treating it felt disrespectful.
"Actually, guys, maybe Te Reo Māori isn't the easiest language to learn quickly," he mumbled, disappointment lacing his voice.
The pups, oblivious to his feelings, pressed on. "Oh, come on, Marshall! Just one more word!"
Marshall's heart sank. Maybe sharing his culture wasn't as simple as he'd hoped. He felt a pang of isolation, a longing for someone who understood the weight and beauty of his heritage. He retreated to his pup house, feeling misunderstood.
Later that night, as the pups snoozed, Marshall gazed at the star-filled sky. He missed his whānau, the familiar rhythm of his native tongue. A tear rolled down his cheek. He yearned to share his heritage, but the experience left him unsure how to proceed.
