Hushed Willows no skin like the skin you woke up in

it suits you, she says, and a warm blush explodes under his fur. it is one thing to be told that your name is interesting or unique -- as has been often said to him -- and another to hear that the name that you've chosen fits you. it's powerful. feeling vulnerable, he turns his face slightly, a smile lingering on his mouth. 

"not yet," he says, still averting his gaze -- it is, he supposes, a special thing. it is nice that he trusts her enough for this, he decides, and looks back up at her. "it was sort of an impulsive decision this morning -- i mean, i'd been thinking about it for a while, but i just woke up and it felt -- right. the season, maybe." he half-shrugs and smiles again uselessly, unsure if he's really saying anything at all. an urge to pivot from himself strikes, and he says, "speaking of names, though -- what of your children?"