Stavanger Bay give me daughters, send me sons, i'll make them all chosen ones

Ragna reveled in the warmth of the den, still finding the air of the outside world wanting in comparison to the long forgotten womb. Instinctively, she sought out physical touches and warmth, drawn to her siblings and parents like metal to magnets. Even without the promise of food, contact was welcomed.

Still, she would quite like some food.

Charon's touch settled her for a moment, his nose to her side a distraction from her scattered train of thought. No longer was she solely bent on food, and soon her whim might redirect itself. She cried out again, unsure of what she wanted herself, only knowing that she wanted.