The nameless child known only as Ein — though the small tiny infant did not know he was numbered, nor much of …well anything. His existence wasn’t that grand, too young, and too newborn. The nameless’ sense of smell was weak, but he could scent Thistle’s milk and though blind and deaf followed it to his meal source when he was hungry. The understanding of his body was known only through coming in contact with the other numbered blobs, both of which he perceived as smaller than him if only because it was relatively easy to crawl over them. His movements were sluggish and he was tired easily, feeling the heat and downy fur of whichever sibling was under him. He felt a vibration of protest (Tokio is going to say he’s crawled on top of Gyda) — a unheard sound by the nameless Ein though surely it would not escape @Thistle Cloud’s notice. While he had managed to sluggishly crawl on top of the other blob he couldn’t seem to find his way down and made a soft cooing noise — just a vibration to him that he felt gurgle in his throat before his toothless mouth gaped open in a yawn and he clamped down on something that had a funny texture in his mouth having unknowingly began to gum at one of Gyda’s folded ears. Nothing like the thing that gave him the delicious and warm milk.
He suckled at it to no avail, effectively covering it in thick, sticky puppy spittle and released it finally to let out a huff that was extraordinarily indignant. He wanted milk, and after squirming around some more on his sister’s body slid off, stretching slightly when he plopped back down upon the deer fur that rested under their bodies to protect them from the cold and harsh earth. He pawed at it for a few seconds, black, leathery nostrils working furiously, weakly in an attempt to sniff out Thistle for his third meal because he was hungry again. Sleepy, though his dreams took no form other than vibrations, warmth, chill and nothingness.
Laughing to herself she decided to help her little one. having trouble there little ein? she leaned over and picked him up gently in her mouth and pushed him gently to her teats knowing he was probably. Her daily routine was feed babies eat, nap when they did, groom them, eat and sleep all over again. she began to lick the first born gently humming to herself
It was kind of frustrating only being able to feel and smell, though his sense of smell was quite below par as all newborns’ were. He couldn’t see (though admittedly he wasn’t aware he was blind because he knew no different), and he couldn’t hear. All he could feel was vibrations and hope that the vibrations he made in mimicry were understood by …whatever the large warm things were. One of them was warm and gave him the sweet milk that filled his little tummy and that was as close as the emotionless, newborn creature could currently get to affection. The warmth vibrated at him, the vibrations soothing for some reason, ceasing whatever frustrated sound that had been about to burst from the Nameless’ lungs. The vibrations were gone a few moments later but then he was picked up by something. At least, the thing his body squirmed along on was gone and there was a kind of weightless sensation that he let out a loud cry about, undetermined if he liked it or not and then he was back on the ground, and pressed up against the warmth and food source. Squirming until he was comfortable and pacified; he was he began to suckle eagerly and more importantly hungrily intending to fill his belly with the sweet, warm liquid that slid down his tongue and throat.
She resumed licking his down fur on his back but tried not to move him too much not wanting to get the protests he often let out at being removed from food.
As Ein suckled, greedily and hungrily until his little stomach was beginning to full he paused in his feeding only momentarily when he felt the warmth of Thistle’s tongue slide the length of his body, smoothing the mussed, downy soft midnight colored fur that covered his body. He squirmed beneath her tongue, attempting to avoid his mother’s attempts at grooming him but to no real avail. It became apparent to Ein in his blind and deaf, starkly contrasting black or white world (about all he was able to comprehend and understand even if it was nothing at all) was that he was decidedly not getting out of bath time. He was not sure if he liked the sensation of Thistle’s tongue sliding over his head, and down his little spine and sides. Someday he would be able to put up more of a viable fight against bathing but that day was not destined to be today with his limited mobility. With a sharp huff he returned to his meal albeit begrudgingly.
There was a reprieve when Thistle moved on to the groom the two other little blobs at his sides though her attention (not that Ein was overly aware of this) did not stray from the feeding child for too long. He could feel the vibrations as she spoke to him though he knew not the words she spoke, the future she envisioned of him, nor her warning against violence (not that even if he could hear and comprehend that he would understand it). In an urge of a moment that seized him he detached himself and attempted to mimic the ‘vibrations’ his mother made though all that spilled from the Nameless Child’s toothless mouth was unintelligible cries. He wasn’t there yet, but he wanted her to know that he was noticing her vibrations even though they held no meaning to him beyond something he felt.
Thistle smiled at the small noises coming from her eldest son's maw and she gently touched her own nose to his much smaller one. Lifting her head she looked down at him and spoke softly Oh little one you are going to wake your siblings. However I do like to hear you. I imagine you are going to be a talker, perhaps very diplomatic. A king among wolves maybe. She then hummed gently deep in her chest and gave his ears one last lick.
Ein had managed to wiggle away from Gyda’s side having squished her between Tveir and himself at some point, in some manner that likely involved a lot of climbing, harmless munching of ears which had seemed to become the First Born’s favorite past time besides eating and sleeping, more conquering of his siblings as if they were great mountains, and maybe some sort of separation by one of their parents’ (we can assume it was Ragnar probably). Ein wasn’t entirely sure because he’d probably been fast asleep when it had happened. After all, he couldn’t be sure because it wasn’t like he could see. Instead he had felt the notable size difference between the two other squirming things and sensed on a basic, instinctual level — which was the level in which Ein knew anything — that it was the smallest of them and therefore it needed to be protected. Even if he could have heard Thistle’s words he would not have liked stopped in his endeavor of trying to get away from her grooming tongue.
Thistle continued to speak to her deaf, eldest son, creating a fantasy of what she imagined him to be as he grew up: who she envisioned he would become. If he were capable of hearing her, and furthermore comprehending what she was saying the idea might have entirely captivated him (because what boy doesn’t want to hear that his mother thinks he will be a king among
menwolves?). It was a high opinion of him and his still mysterious and unknown future abilities. Ein had no idea who he’d be; he wasn’t even sure what he was knowing only the simple truth that he existed. For now, that was good enough for Ein. There was a continuous vibration, one that had different pitches (or deepness) from the thing that well…he didn’t exactly know as mother yet, but at the very least he knew as food source. It was an interesting thing and he wiggled closer to her, pausing, whole body tensing when she licked one of his little folded ears. He let out an indignant “stop it mother, it’s embarrassing” cry though it sounded just like any other cry he let loose.
oh little king you are going to let us all know when you are unhappy. I must tell you though you must do so politely. she knew he couldn't hear or understand but she enjoyed talking to him nonetheless she then began to hum again but watched to see what he would do.
All attempts at squirming were entirely and frustratingly useless because Thistle still managed to find it necessary to bathe him with her tongue. It seemed that after he let out his last mimicry of vibration (the indignant cry) the tongue bath stopped much to the newborn’s surprise and beyond that relief. He shivered once, downy fur damp with Thistle’s saliva. Thistle spoke to him once more though, as before, her words were lost upon the deaf child. She began making that constant vibration again, soft and somehow soothing, different from her speech vibrations. Slowly the child squirmed closer unsure what it was but knowing he wished to feel it directly.
She nuzzled his head gently tickling his ears with her breath and smiled as she continued to hum a soft sound to any outside ears.
No problem
With a small, cutesy baby yawn the eldest Loðbrók child squirmed closer to his mother, poking and prodding around with his muzzle. This assault against Thistle’s side continued until he found a contented place he could rest where he could feel the continuation of vibrations borne of her humming. Curling against the soft, thick fur he found there, the feel of her humming vibrating against his spine he curled up and fell fast asleep.