The Sentinels a voice from down the ages, so in haunting in its song

As Deirdre's discomfort subsided, so did little Emaleth's— and she shifted to curl against the Bringer's chest, now that he held the pair close. She, too, quieted and stared upon the bright light of her companion and wondered that she was so different. Yet unable to see that her own fur matched that of her father's, and feeling no different than she had before, Emaleth thought she was still part of the Everything. That only Deirdre had coalesced into something that could be truly seen; for even the Bringer was an inky black that was difficult to perceive against the darkness of their cavern.

She cooed softly, absently rubbing her head against the Bringer as his chest and throat vibrated in song. It sustained her as much as the Giver's milk did— albeit not a physical sustenance, she loved and needed it all the same. His words flowed through her and nestled within her, imprinting upon the far reaches of her mind, though she did not yet understand the meaning of the words.