Tuf-shum-tia. He wished he knew what that meant. Andrew felt like a failure to his bloodline because he had no idea of any of their languages, had been raised by a white family. They'd been well educated but had no knowledge of their languages either. He looked down, staring into the water as he ground his teeth and forced his comb through his hair. It was painful, he'd never let his hair go so terribly. Perhaps it was that native blood that kept him from cutting it at all. Maybe he was just making assumptions.

When it was finally smooth and damp against his back, Andrew slid his comb into his pocket and stood up, shaking out his right arm and twisting his hair over his shoulder. "Um, I don't need a hat... I can handle the sun... Actually I don't really like..." He bit his lips and fell silent, looking up at Joey and twisting his hair more. "I can..." He felt around and dropped his hand in resignation. "Oh... They took my... everything." He didn't even have the leather tie to put his hair back---it had snapped when he was forced into that prison. And now he had to rely on this near stranger to spend money on him. He felt utterly useless. Almost numbly, he went to White Tide and started petting her mane, receiving a light nuzzle in return.