Moonspear our love belongs to the earth, our hearts to the stars

She was never alone, not whilst the womb served as her place of growth nor after she was forced from its comfort; the concept of loneliness was one that she would likely never grasp, and especially not now, her mind still so fresh. But the cold—that was something she recognised, even if it was not fully understood. It brought her discomfort, the split second between her entrance into the world and being nestled beside her brother, when she felt the chill of the air around her—and she wailed once set free from the sac, the comfort and warmth of her mother’s tongue being the first to soothe her.

Then there came a greater warmth, found the moment she was tucked against the underside of She Who Gave Life. There she found herself able to rest—the journey out was rough not only on their mother, but the little girl, too—a teat claimed, allowing her stomach to be filled as she found sleep.