Light was a new and exciting development in Waxwing's world. It trickled into his eyeballs, reflected there, and shot electricity into his brain that desperately tried to interpret it. The images were still blurry and confusing, but he had started to recognize a few things.
One:
mother. She was the source of all things warmth, bathing, and food. He liked her
a lot.
Two:
father. This appeared to be a slightly less-useful version of
mother. He could not provide food, but he did provide warmth and baths.
Three:
sister. She was in the way much of the time, but he could usually push her around enough to get what he wanted (see: one—mother).
Presently, Waxwing was half-walking, half-crawling his way to the mouth of the den, the source of light and
newness.
aditya was lazing near the mouth of the den, idly noting a bee hovering from flower to flower, when movement caught the corner of his eye.
he turned to see waxwing, the dusky brown boy, making his way to the outside. he noted the pup's wide blue eyes and smiled; that was a new development. the past couple of weeks had flown, then.
arrey, bachcha,
adi called out softly, and wiggled forward to impede the little one's progress. your mother will have my head if i let you go too far.
they were growing fast. he saw himself especially in this one, and gave the kid a gentle lick behind the ears.
Earlier that morning, Silktail had crept beneath Tytonidae’s tail after feeding, utterly content as she curled up to sleep. She was unaware that when she woke up, she would be staring straight into her mother’s asshole. She couldn’t know what it was—and it was pretty dark underneath that black bottlebrush—but there was just enough light for the pup to realize something was amiss and let out a scream so piercing it likely vaporized Aditya’s bee.