Lost Creek Hollow i am pulsing the blood in your veins.

Despite the traumatic events that unrolled before the new babe, he would remember none of them. What was once a warm, cozy world turned cold as he was evicted -- the den air stinging him in the rapid decrease in temperature. His voice announced his upset -- the tiniest of squeaks and grunts, but soon the loving touch of his mother would sweep in to comfort him.
 
Her tongue was soothing -- his tiny body cleaned, and he was pushed toward the warmth of her belly where he nestled against the warm bodies of his siblings. Quieting instantly -- Pippin had not yet learned entitlement or anger. His only focus was that his little mouth could wrap upon a teat, and the warm milk he was supplied with was all he required.
 
Tiny front paws kneaded at her belly like a cat - and when he tired (within minutes), the smallest boy pushed his face as far as possible in to the warmth of his mother's fur, and found himself asleep once more.