Sleeping Dragon governed by sound reason and true religion

Butting against the other thing hadn't harmed him, or really even bothered him for that matter. He'd moved of his own free will, and had met a slight blockage as per usual. What had really thrown him through a loop, however, was when he'd been pulled up close against a warm object. The familiar feeling of fur brushing up against his face had been somewhat comforting, but he'd been aware enough to recognize that it was different. Though soft, it wasn't mommy-soft, and so he'd felt distraught for a fleeting second as he'd tried to figure out who—or what—had taken him away. Would he ever be returned to his milk-giver again? It was the only question capable of being present within his mind, for the boy could currently operate only when under strict instructions from his stomach. The idea alone that it might never be filled again had really rocked his world, causing young Hvitserk to let out a sharp cry.

The wail had lasted for less than a second, all sounds from the boy having been cut off immediately. For there in that moment, his eyes had managed to peel themselves open for the very first time, the stress of the situation having been the cause. While he could see nothing more than blurry shadows, it had been enough to ease his worries. There was another large shadow within his home that was not the one that had pulled him close, which could only mean that he wasn't being taken away from his nutrients. Relocated, yes, but not forever. That pleased him greatly, too, and so quiet would Hvit remain.