Stavanger Bay angel from montgomery

The horror of her birth already forgotten (for the girl, there was very little to be remembered about the event even if she could have remembered it, having been blind and deaf at the time), Moorhen lived a comfortable life. She was always warm, always fed, always surrounded by the hum of many hearts and the whoosh of many breaths, and always, always, always ensconced in the crashing and receding of the waves. The sounds of the sea echoed strangely in the cave where she was nursed, but Moorhen was not to know. To the tiny girl, it was simply the way of things.

She could not remember a time in her life when the sea's presence had not been felt. She'd yet to see it, but she'd yet to see anything. She knew the sea as well as she knew her siblings, her mothers, the feathers that made up her bed.