Ankyra Sound But you and I, we're pioneers

The mind of a newborn is a strange thing. There are only a few comforts in life and only instincts. Their life toddles on without emotion, inspiration or even purpose in those formative weeks. Wylla, for example, wanted for nothing. Her body still thrummed with the warmth of mother and brother and den. The air was musty and no unfamiliar scents distracted or distressed her, for Kjalarr smelled much the same as Caiaphas to the newborn babe. While comfort was always wanted, it wasn't a pressing need. She wasn't particularly hungry, either.

In short, Wylla cried because she could cry, and no one could know truly what would stop her.

When Kjalarr pulled her closer, her sounds grew muffled and curious for a moment, but without warning she gurgled and wailed again, seemingly without cause. And truly, there was no cause. She was a newborn and her mind was as simple as it got: she knew crying and not crying, and seemed to flip between the two as easy as a light switch. There wasn't always a reason. Crying was a comfort, too.