Stavanger Bay pain is a ritual we are required to conduct in

Her question was left unanswered; Spot gave him a long look, thinking his smile was somewhat tremulous but seeing no reason why she should let that bother her. If he didn't want her around, he'd have to buck up and tell her so. For the moment, she was content in the liminal space between invitation and rejection, and moved closer still. Her nose, now, was near to his fur, a breath away from brushing. He smelled of salt, and of a deep, musky sorrow.

"Sunspot," she replied, her eyes flickering to his face once more. She ceded an inch back to him, retreating half a step. There was something about him - she didn't know what to make of it, but it was always good to be cautious. She was alone out here, after all, and there was no guarantee that help would come if she called for it.

But caution had never come too easily for her, and that same something that warned her drew her like a bright beacon as well. She could not turn away. "I'll bother you all day, if you let me," the shewolf teased, trying to draw more words out of the male. He'd shown himself gentle, thus far, and Sunspot felt comfortable surveying him because of this. "So you ought to satisfy my curious nature, if you want me to be on my way. I'll need more than a name, I think."