The Sentinels the stars of heaven hovered, in a shimmering galaxy

She grunted quietly as the body close to her began to shift and root, only briefly protesting the change in her comfort. But Emaleth was ever-patience, ever-adapting— and with a belly already full, she shifted to curl against both the Source and her sister, content to lay there and doze. The small stirrings of the feeding Deirdre were like a lullaby, and the darker child was comforted by the gentle rocking against her form. Its rhythm was a reassurance, as nearly everything in this life had been. Emaleth knew little of sorrow or pain; only that she hated to be separated from her sister, and that had become rare for their tiny cacophonies. The Source had learned.