Ouroboros Spine no one wakes up one day

his attention drifts, gaze staring absently across the water to settle on nothing in particular on the opposite bank. the thousand yard stare is too easy for him to accomplish without trying, the disassociation carrying him far away from the bank with easy. it is only when she speaks that he rouses from it and it takes him a few seconds to focus and decipher her words. names. she was talking about names. no. not names. his name. he can't muster the ability to form the words to tell her that he didn't even remember it and thus any name would be better than having nothing. her first suggestion appears based on the undertone color of his fur or his eyes.

the second option appears based on their last meeting when, according to her, she cleaned tree sap from his fur. he lets out a soft, near inaudible snort. treesap wasn't his first choice in potential names to call him, though blue wasn't hateful, he supposed. still, he peers over his shoulder at her with a slow turn of his head to avoid disrupting his wounds. what else d'you got?