Heron Lake Plateau sleeping children are still flying

In the wake of her wild whirring, the silver-cloaked fledgling was eerily still — that is, until the sweep of Raven’s muzzle blew gently on her lifespark and coaxed it to glow. Physical stimulation from her hardier siblings aided in keeping Kite present and alert, and her little mouth rounded even as her head bobbed wildly. It took a few false starts, and she couldn’t seem to figure out how to work her spasmodically quivering paws — but at last, her tongue bumped against a nipple and she automatically latched on. She suckled peacefully for a time, until the kicking and jostling of her siblings threatened her tenuous stability. She tried to hang on, but it was too late —

With an audible pop! she was knocked from the milk bar, and she wailed fitfully. It became clear, however, that Kite was issuing not a lament, but a battlecry. Trembling violently, she scrabbled with unsteady paws to right herself and then — it seemed her placid little face was set in a grimace of determination — she began to shiver-shimmy back to her place. This time, albeit with painstaking slowness, she managed to make it on her own, latching on and nursing with renewed vigor. Faltering, falling, and having to start over every few minutes was probably a little frustrating for the new parents to witness, but it was simply Kite’s reality; and every time she got knocked down, she got back up with a new modicum of surety.