The Owl, the Bobcat, the Fossa, the Saola. All of these creatures have an important part in the culture that they are each in. Each has their own nickname that seems to hold to them throughout the ages: the "Wise Owl", the "Sneaky Bobcat", the "Fier...
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Poloma's PoV (Picture is Poloma)
"I can't believe you got yourself transferred," I told my best friend as we walked to our new school. We had been best friends since either of us could remember.
Nashoba rolled his eyes as he walked beside me, bag hanging over his shoulder. "I did not get myself transferred. I just asked for new foster parents."
I raised my eyebrows. "In another country, in the same place that I happened to be moving to?"
Nashoba looked away from me, a sure sign that he was lying. "I didn't say where."
I sighed and shook my head, seeing the school. "Okay, I'll drop it. Anyway, let's hope you have the same classes as me, because I know that you don't speak French fluently."
Nashoba made a face but didn't argue. I knew a bit of French because I had taken classes at my old school and I had been researching it for awhile for my books. Nashoba, who only knew English and Chickasaw (language of our tribe), could barely even pronounce 'bonjour'. We walked into the school and headed towards the office. As much as I hated to talk to people, I knew I'd have to talk to the principal.
Getting to the office, I raised my eyebrows as I saw other kids our age sitting there. One, the boy, had turquoise hair, pale skin, and brown eyes. He looked bored as he sat back, arms crossed, the silver choker around his throat glinting in the light. The other, a girl, had red hair, tan skin, and eyes. She was playing with a flower thing in her hair.
They both looked to us as we walked in. The girl looked to us and tilted her head. "Are you both new too?"
I nodded. "Yes. We just moved here from the United States."
The boy looked up at that. "You are an immigrant too?" He had a different accent than the first girl had. I could hear that he wasn't from France, but I had no idea where he was from.
"Uh, yes, you could call us that," I said, looking at Nashoba. He looked incredibly confused, reminding me that he couldn't understand anything.
I looked back to the girl as she said, "My name's Elata Durand. I guess I'm the only one transferring schools and not moving to another country."
I nodded slightly to her as the boy said, "And I am Cadeo Van."
I nodded to them before gesturing to myself and Nashoba. "I am Poloma Hunt and this is my friend Nashoba Meadows."
The girl looked surprised. "You two aren't related?"
I had to roll my eyes. Too many people said Nashoba and I were related. "No, we are not."
Nashoba nudged me and asked, in English, "What's going on?"
I turned to him and answered, "Related comment. But other than that, that's Elata and that's Cadeo." I pointed at each of before turning back to the conversation. "Sorry, he only understands a little French."
