Ravensblood Forest talking of michelangelo

Spot drew back, offended. For a moment, she failed to comprehend that anyone could hold something less than a deep sense of duty to their blood, but something in his tone tipped her off, and she settled once more.

"It means nothing to me," she agreed, although that didn't mean they shared no common ancestors. (Her mother'd had this silly idea that all wolves stemmed from one common bloodline, but Sunspot didn't put much stock in that.) Either way, they had another topic to pursue, and Sunspot wasn't in the mood to get into ancestry or origin stories.

"She's one of us, yes. A grey shewolf, with red points," said Sunspot, not quite sure her description was accurate. They'd only crossed paths the one time. And what did Spot think of her? "I don't really know what to make of her." She'd been a bit rude, but they hadn't known each other. Sunspot would've acted the same way toward an outsider. "I suppose I wondered what you thought, but if you haven't met her, it's a moot point."