Stavanger Bay dry the river

@Sandpiper - let's try this again

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The young child did not know much of the world around him. He was blind as a bat and thoroughly confused from birth to his current state. Smokestep had not matured much; he was still a tiny and pale figure with limbs that he did not seem to have much control over. There was no sense of sound or sight for the ghost child, but he knew that there was a figure that fed them and tended to them when they needed it. Occasionally, he would feel the cold touch of a stranger’s nose against his small frame and he would shiver out of fear and delight at the sensation that brought life to his body. There was so much he did not understand and much more that did not come instinctually to him. One thing was certain; the woman who fed them was not their mother, and he could tell this much. The hunger that clawed at him was more than enough to get him to nurse from the female, and even curl close to the warmth of her body.
 
That evening, he found himself wobbling around, limbs smacking into various surrounding objects (that included his unwary siblings). His mouth parted and a quiet little squeak was emitted. It was entirely against his will, but the youngster had very little will to spare at his age. Smokestep made a move to close the short distance that had spread between him and his wet nurse. Parting his mouth in a blind scramble, he hoped to latch to a teat.

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