Stavanger Bay Twenty-four seven, baby, three-six-five

Kevlyn knew he wasn't meant to go any closer. He knew that to do so would invite Verrine's wrath. Mordred said it too, though the words he spoke were woefully foreign to the young cub, who was only just learning small words himself. That was that, then; they were at an impasse.

Within a few short moments, Kev deemed impasses boring. He could hardly manage to interact with a stranger without first inspecting hum, and to do that he needed to be near enough to smell him. Mordred didn't seem interested in getting closer, leaving Kevlyn to bear the brunt of his father's impending rage on his own.

Despite the warning, Kev stretched his whole body in Mordred's direction and noisily snuffled. He still wasn't close enough, but he was still held back by lingering fear of punishment... though it would only last so long.