Stavanger Bay Little Angels wrapped in fur

Whatever sibling he'd managed to poke in the pudgy side — it was only typical that it was Flóki that the little legend shoved his nose into, thoroughly invading any and all personal space. It made sense, in a deep psychological way that went vastly over Jorunn's head, that it was his twin he gravitated towards; but he didn't know whose flank he'd shoved his nose into so it was just a sibling. A sibling that apparently had not enjoyed being poked and had returned the sentiment caused a small grunt and fart to simultaneously erupt from both ends of Jorunn. The vibrations — what would later become words to Jorunn — were all that he had coming from the big wall of warmth and fur that also happened to be his easy ticket to a meal whenever he so pleased, lest she stepped out to relieve herself or stretch her legs. The meaning, the question and perhaps Seer like hint at their destinies — him a future King? — of her words was currently lost upon the deaf legend as he nuzzled closer to her, aiming to claim her attention, though it was not as if he knew if he had it or not at this point. Perhaps he sought only to feel her vibrations again, drawing mother-child comfort from the gentle hum and lull of her voice even if he could not yet hear it.