Stavanger Bay we are graveyards reaching, with haunted bones

It was a relief to hear that someone didn't blame her, even if it was an upstart kid that she still felt a certain amount of animostiy for. His next words, however, blew that relief away. When he was finished, she had to giggle - just a tiny bit! - at the boyishness of this point of view. It was just such a typical mannish way to approach the situation, and Sunspot couldn't help the exasperated look she sent his way.

"It's not about worthiness," she sighed, ears slicking back at the thought. Would Grayday think that she thougth him unworthy? Did she think him unworthy, undeserving? "Grayday's a fine leader, and he does right enough by his family. It's just that - well, I'm not part of it, anymore. Not really," she tried to explain. "I guess I feel like I'm on the outside looking in, when I'm so used to being right in the middle - being in charge. But he wasn't part of that, and he doesn't see me as the leader I became. Just the girl he remembers."

And, she supposed, there was how she still saw him. Not as a father, or a leader, or as a heartbroken man, but as a boy not much older than Drogon, and with a bullheadedness to match.

"You remind me a bit of him," she said, then, head cocking to the side. "Of when we were younger. More sure of ourselves." Her head went back down onto her paws, and she observed the young male through hooded eyes.