Coyote stares at her all slack-jawed as she begins and... Ah, never seems to end. He tries to interject, he really does. Almost too puzzled for the likes of discomfort to remain in his chest. "I - no, men said this my name, not me," he clarifies the best he knows how to with what little room she provides but the topic lingers only as long as her tongue chooses. Stories now. "An...Anvil? What is this?"

Story again! This time with a cadence that pins his ears back against his skull with a pang of deepening bewilderment. A star, he thinks. Why would a star be here? How? Why did she not elaborate on this?

Another story!

And by now he's beginning to sink, captive audience, with every new word another inch is gained to bring him closer to the dirt. "Owl? Why for owl all that," Coyote's haunches thump against the ground now. He concedes. He folds! He is so taken aback by the very nature of this wolf that he can only stare in her direction with a strange attentiveness to him.

There is, in slowly budded succession, a faint endearment. Liss is encantador (charming) in the way sweet things typically are. For this, he's uncertain how to deny her continuance, so he does not. Coyote only takes in the brief quiet before he speaks, "I don't doubt that, chica, with teeth like those you are well," he offers a smile that's softer than he intends. "But you grow tired in time, not so quick, no?"

Coyote is blunt here, lowering his head so that he might be somewhat level with her. "Pregnancy is not easy far from others, I have seen. Not good, no, no, not at all."