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Note: The viewpoint character is not in the picture. I apologize for any confusion this might cause you!
"Diana! Don't say natives, or tribes. Always first cultures. Remember that!"
The young Dalmatian made a moue at her mother, to her back of course. Following the delicious smell of roast meat, she skipped ahead of the tourist party and their guide. A day in a Land Rover makes a girl hungry, especially when your mobile can't get a signal and you're forced to listen to grown-ups gushing about the sights.
She had been a bit worried about this 'first culture' dinner excursion too, part of this stupid all-inclusive vacation. Who knew what sort of broiled bugs you might get served? But this was something else, as it came into view. A whole roast -- well, she couldn't tell of what, but it smelled like herbivore meat, and it had obviously been roasted just recently, juices still trickling from the hole where the spit was.
Getting closer, it was clearly a female too, but a small one. Her own size, maybe, or the size of the grinning lion girl standing behind the table, knives ready to carve the roast. "Oh, that's so primitive," she thought, with a little shiver. "Probably some cute native girl they just caught..." But that pink cap and the sunglasses -- that wasn't very first culture. Reminded her of someone...
"Where did you get those?" she tries asking, but there's no sign that the lion girl understands English. Pointing at the cap works little better, she gets a smile and a shrug in return, and a knife pointing at the hide drying between two trees nearby. So it's zebra... Diana smiles back, she's heard that should be good tender meat.
And then it clicks. All that running about at the herbivore cabins last night, the hushed, glossed over explanations when a certain family didn't come on the trip this morning. Diana grins and points at a crisp little breast, licking her lips as the lion girl starts to carve. "Zellie, hah... serves her right for shaking those things at all the boys."
Diana didn't know that first cultures involved burger buns either, but she happily accepts one from the basket beside the table. By the time her family catches up she's halfway through her treat, grease staining her bare furred arms almost to the elbows. "Mom, this is the best," she says, earning a frown for talking with her mouth full. "Just hope the herbs stay over by the the boiled coconuts or whatever, or there'll be trouble..."