Broken Boulder whole damn thing's covered in dirt

at two weeks old there is still not much to the quiet child. occasionally she tussles with her siblings, finding them to be incovenient, if warm, obstacles in her path. she likes to sit and watch them stumble about, their loud personalities a stark contrast to her tendencies towards resigned acceptance.

until this particular tribulation. 

solomon had stumbled up from her perch out of her siblings' way, ready for a nice, refreshing drink from mama. instead she's presented with a strange-smelling pile of meat, a concept she is unfamiliar with. baby blue eyes blink and then narrow. nn! nnmrrr! comes the babyish protest, still too little to make much in the way of words, but the intent is clear -- you will not fool me with this false not-milk! the stygian child lifts herself on wobbly-toddler legs and takes off, making a beeline straight through the unwanted meat meal for the sweet bliss of mama's teat.