Perhaps it was by choice—without sight in the womb and then, too, beyond birth, she was not eager to gain it. In keeping with familiarity, she was comfortable. Comfortable to be blind to the world around her, to the faces of the Life-Giver and the other creature that often wriggled at her side. By wanting it so much, she was able to keep the development at bay—but it was not a permanent loss, something she discovered just as the first rays of the morning light were beginning to peer through the den’s mouth.

Blinking—that was new—awake, she turned her head towards the source and stared, as best she could; everything was still so blurry, a mesh of lights and shadows. This development was not necessarily understood, perceived as a mere dream, like so many others that occupied her time whilst she lazed against her mother. Yet, she began to coo curiously at the sunlight anyways, whining and grumbling at it—what was it, anyway?

Interrupted were her soft coos by the swatting of her sister. Startled by the suddenness of it, she loosed a sharp yelp and turned her head in search of the culprit. With sight still so new and still so blurry, she could only barely make out the shadow that was her sister—over to which she moseyed, grumbling all the while. Much like she frequently attempted to do come feeding time, Arcelia intended to butt her head against the other child; a tiny bulldozer, wriggling and squirming. Focused—or as focused as a whelp could be—on the task at hand, she was yet to take notice to the other, far larger shadow lurking nearby.