"Atjay Brittlebark," the doe greeted with a warm, matronly voice. Her tired eyes were ringed and had crow's feet pinching at their edges. Handy wasn't one to judge, but he assumed that if a deer were to age gracefully, she had managed to achieve it. "What have you brought to us this time?" This only served to confuse the human. Surely they had already greeted one another. Why do so again in English for the benefit of the foreigners present?